


We Hallowed Few

by ClockworkRainbow



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- Fantasy, Gen, High Fantasy, Lions as actual lions, Magic, Swords and Sorcery, because sometimes you just need a big old high fantasy adventure, tonally comparable to canon; has darkness but doesn't live there, traveling performers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-06 04:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 56,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12809433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkRainbow/pseuds/ClockworkRainbow
Summary: And the days became years, and the years became centuries, and the Sundering was forgotten, its wound on the kingdom fading into a mere scar. Life returned, above and below; divided worlds that no longer acknowledged the other.But all was not well. The gods did not forget.Those forsaken did not forget.And in the new age there were born certain youths, their dreams stirred by restless omens. Stars began to fall from the sky.The war was not won. Merely postponed.





	1. {Prologue} The Old Road

            The old roads were built in the days before the Sundering, when above and below required not only the cursory and rickety bridges they resorted to now, but great avenues of black stone the likes of which could’ve accommodated an entire choir of balmer monks walking abreast. Here and there, crumbling balustrades swept skyward; arches- joined together, some amputated at the base- yet bore aloft the grandiose bridges.

          In the way of stone, the roads hold their head high. It is not much time, to them, since they were first churned in primordial seas of fire, laid to rest in beds of their fellows- not long before shining tools excised them from such a place and they were shaped and laid here, the pride of the empire, perfect lines of pavers polished by the sun.

            Not long, since they were beaten by foot or wheel of every conceivable variety- from the march of soldiers to the scrambling legs of children, the heavy plodding of beast of burden, the wheels of chariots. They have served well, these old roads, and they yet recall their glory. Even now, quiet and empty, a vehicle for little more than farmers hauling their good to market, the echoes of prestige waft from them.

            Perhaps it is this quantity of ghosts that leads the people to avoid them. There are newer roads, now- smaller ones, of paler stone- less weighted, and less proud.

            But the old roads linger yet. They remember. And while what crosses them now is more bodily than the ghosts that they are used to, it stirs the stones from their memories all the same, as if to peer upwards along the lines of blackened greaves.

            He moves slowly, in shoulders bowed by the weight of his armor. The sweat of his brow runs stinging into fresh wounds, dribbles the length of a sharp jaw, leaves wine-colored pools on the old road.

            Stones do not understand blood, its color or its character. The wetness, they acknowledge, as the way they do his slowing gait. He falls as living things do- as empires, perhaps, do- suddenly from the feet, hands pressed to the ground.

            One is exposed, and warm- it feels the stones, the blood. The other is as black as the old road itself, scrapes against its surface as he climbs upwards again.

            This is not a place to rest, below the open sky, the yawning valleys. The night air passes his face with welcome coolness, and it gives him the strength to continue onwards.

            His progress is slow, and the moon’s light uncertain. In the light, the old road gleams as it once did, the faintest hues of silver in its luster. In the dark, beneath his feet it turns to a chasm. He tries to time his stumbling to the movement of the clouds- he fears what happens, to draw too close to that road when it is black.

            Somewhere beyond him, there is light. His eyes are murky and wet, and yet they make it out- flecks of light that grow into pools of yellow. An old town, the buildings mostly stone, but there is breath in its lungs yet- roofs shingled in wood, smoke curling from chimneys. The queenlamps are burning, an apprentice in tunic and breeches rushing from one to the next. She drops her lightstaff at the sight of him- lets out a scream that startles him to full wakefulness.

            He laughs- surprises himself, and cannot stop- laughs until he’s hacking black bile, strangers thronging now, the air full of questions like chattering birds. He can barely hear them, doesn’t know where this is- it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, because-

            He made it.

            He’s home.


	2. The Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wayfarer, be cautious of the company you keep. They are not always what they seem.

            “Monsters! Bloodthirsty monsters!”

            Passerby shifted, drawing further into themselves, eyes averted. At the edges of the square, they scattered like fallen leaves, skittering to their goals.

            “Passion, terror and eight hundred pounds of savagery- no, sir, we are not exaggerating, guaranteed thrills or your crowns back, one night only!”

            A passing child tugged on her father’s hand, pointing eagerly- at his look, her face fell so abysmally that he shuffled just close enough to take a single flyer, not meeting the eyes of the person who offered it.

            It was a small show of progress, but, in the face of the considerable stack still in hand, it ultimately just came out to dispiriting. Lance frowned at the topmost sheet- his own handiwork, the carefully sketched image of gaping silver jaws, a long-haired princess swooning into the arms of a knight whose single sword was the only thing keeping the both of them from certain gruesome death. Implied- of course- any production advertised in public had to be family-friendly by edict of the kingdom.

            The inks for that hadn’t been cheap, and this was the last big town they could hit before the long trek to the capital roads. They _needed_ a good showing, or they’d all be down to one meal a day, and nobody would be happy with that.

            However caught up in internal lamentations he might’ve been, he was not so distracted as to miss the shadow that broke away from one of the buildings and sauntered over, head hunched and hands in pockets like any schoolboy cutting class. The other pulled up short, just shy of his elbow, flipping up the brim of the newsboy cap just long enough to flash a gap-toothed grin.

            “Oh you did _not_ run out that fast.”

            “Yup. Did.” Pidge held out a hand. “Told you, romance sells better.”

            With a quasi-facetious grumble, Lance surrendered about half of his flyers. “And I told _you_ , any chump entertainer with a wig, a falsetto, and a halfway-decent male lead can put on a romance show. We’ve got a live onstage tiger, here. I’m playing to our _strengths_.”

            A green eye turned sideways over the crowd, Pidge’s snub-nosed, freckled face of the day crinkling in an incredulous look that Lance would recognize on any guise. “That why everybody’s all the way over there?”

            “That’s not my fault! Everybody here’s really squirrely for some reason. Besides, you’re the one who decided to look like a starving urchin today, you totally did that on purpose.”

            She hooked her thumbs in the suspenders of thrice-patched overalls, skinny chest puffed out. “I _might’ve_.” The arrogance doesn’t last long, turning to Lance with a more sincere look. “More importantly, I think I know why you’re having such a hard time.”

            “Is it the power of true love brought to life in inspiring theatric performance?”

            A grubby finger brandished in his direction. “That too, but, more importantly. Apparently a day before we got here, they arrested a blackblood right in the town square.”

            “Whoa, are you _serious_?” He turned another look over the crowd. The defensive postures, the gazes pretending to be furtive. Why Pidge had so much more success- small favor they’d left Hunk to watch the tents. This place would be looking sideways at any outsider who could even possibly pose a threat for weeks to come.

            “Cross my heart.” Pidge actually made the gesture. “Took three guards to take him down, injured one of them, apparently he was trying to steal food. There was something about dark magic, too, but, let’s just say everybody’s stories started contradicting pretty badly right at that point.”

            Yeah, that was small town superstition for you. At least, this far north. Lance tugged the collar of his shirt, casting his eyes around the area. This was the town square- why he’d set up there, while Pidge had gone for market street- and around it would be the civic buildings- there, with the thickest walls, a decently-sized clocktower furnishing its brow. The prison had to lay in its underbelly, he was sure of it.

            He dumped the rest of his fliers into Pidge’s hands. “You’re right about everything, romance is better than monsters, take care of the rest of these for me?”

            “Wha-hey! Lance!”

            He was already sauntering towards the building, hesitating thoughtfully and swinging back toward a side street where he remembered a cart vendor selling meat pies.

* * *

            The kid at the desk was a year younger than Lance, and was terribly interested in a conversation that did not require tedious amounts of paperwork to be filed. Getting past them was a breeze, and he was able to advertise the show in the meantime, getting an earnest promise they’d drop by as soon as the shift was done.

            The guard at the door to the prison was another story entirely. For one matter, she was a six-foot wall hewn in muscle and mortared with ligaments. And the temperament of said wall, well:

            “No gawkers.”

            “Right, no, that’s not what this is, this is-”

            “I know _exactly_ what this is.” She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re some irreverent fop who’s never seen a blackblood in your life and wants to make a circus exhibit out of someone that can slit your throat and leave you out to dry, and whatever blighted earth that boy crawled out of, he deserves the same as any criminal, which is to be left to think over his actions in _peace_.”

            He winced. There was really no easy way around this, was there.

            With a careful hand, as if he were merely warm, he unbuttoned his collar. It was a convincing performance- he was already sweating, for reasons that had only so much to do with the environment and a little more with the fact that the guard looked just about ready to haul him out by his ears. “Okay- point taken, but, gawking-”

            There was always a peculiar point where the magic _caught_. Where a pointless situation, a huge barrier- suddenly was much, much more negotiable. The woman’s eyes widened, slightly, brows drew together, sweeping him up and down- trying to figure out what, exactly, he was up to. What had changed in the air.

            “-Gawking,” said Lance, with far greater certainty than before, “is for amateurs. Professionals don’t gawk, but they take a look, and, it’s very important, sometimes, to admit that even if you’re very knowledgeable and experienced- and you are, of course, clearly, probably one of the best guards this town has to offer,” the tension was sliding slowly out of her body, and, encouraged, he spoke faster- “doing a great job. People don’t _know_ how good of a job you’re doing, is the awful thing, they’ll all just sit safe and warm in their houses and think about what a nice town this is, and sometimes they forget about the guard that makes it all happen.”

            “Don’t always forget,” the guard mumbled, a little troubled. “Muriel brings lunches around to the barracks on Sundays”

            “Of course she does!” Lance nodded, with the certainty of someone who knew exactly how Muriel was. “What the town’s got here is a really good asset, valuable guardswoman, very important, and- how long have you been standing here?”

            “Few hours.”

            “A few _hours_? Man, that’s- I admire your dedication, lady, but you need a break.” He fished a pie out of his bag, let the wrapping open just enough for its tantalizing smell to leak out. “Go ahead, have a load off, no creepy dark mages sneaking out on _your_ watch.”

            “Nobody sneaking out on my watch,” she hummed contentedly, fingers curling around the food slowly, reverently. Even slightly foggy, her gaze pierced him when she turned a look in his direction. “And don’t you try anything.”

            Lance buttoned his collar once again, swallowing the oncoming soreness- gods, it was way too dry- “Uh-huh. Not trying anything, got it.”

            As soon as she was around the corner, he opened the door just wide enough to slide into the prison itself.

            This was an old stone structure, not properly paved but built out of a natural cave that the basement diggers had struck, and clearly chosen to make the most of- humanized only by the addition of a single slot window high at the back of the room. It was a good thing, too, that only one of the cells was occupied, and locked- because otherwise, Lance would really not have placed this person as a blackblood.

            He was shabby-clothed, barefoot; his gaunt face largely hidden behind an unkempt curtain of dark hair. So pale it seemed like he’d never seen the sun in his life, and as soon as Lance had entered the room, he shifted- the riggings of his bones held taunt with the wariness of a cornered wolf.

            Lance knew wolves. He’d spent years in this strange, cold, country, and at the edges of civilization where travelling merchants and entertainers trod they were decently commonplace. And decently _negotiable_ , in a way that bandits often weren’t. A wolf, especially alone, really did not want a horse, or the people tending to it- far too much trouble for too few unsatisfying mouthfuls. It was usually only a starving belly that drove them to try.

            And it was a very wolfish expression of realization that flashed across the stranger’s features when Lance’s hand stuck through the bars, proffering another pie. He reached out cautiously, taking ownership of the thing with slender, callused hands- though the way he set into it, scarcely pausing to unwrap the thing in the process, was with much greater enthusiasm.

            Lance settled back onto his heels and waited. He didn’t have to wait long, as nearly as soon as he’d lingered a wary eye measured him head to toe.

            “What do you want,” it came half-mumbled through a mouthful, and thus, hard to discern, but his voice was like the rest of him- rather unthreatening. It carried a certain terminal softness that turned raspy from the weight of what it carried.

            “Huh, me? Don’t mind me, I’m just here, minding my own business.”

            That mustered a bit of a glare. “You wanna stare that badly, huh.”

            Used to odd looks, in a way Lance could commiserate. Wayfarers were less of an oddity in towns as opposed to villages, but, this was still nothing like cities- microcosms cradled by forest, field and mountain, just as easily isolated for months. The young queen, he heard, had been agitating about radio lines and towers, but it was not a fad that had caught on very far yet. Mail carts were still the only thing that joined most of these places, and what that meant for outsiders was unfavorable.

            Especially a blackblood- though in that regard he couldn’t figure too much odd about the stranger, just from where he sat. A few layers of padded cloth thrown over a toothpick frame, dressed like a mercenary who couldn’t afford metal or leather for armor.

            According to Pidge, had stolen food and taken three guards to subdue. If the bastion of a woman he’d charmed his way past was any indication of the caliber of the town’s watch, he somehow doubted it. More likely he’d gotten lucky on one and the force had overreacted.

            “Can you just tell me what you _want_ , already?” He’d finished the meal, crumpling the paper that had held it in one hand, and was eyeing Lance sharply.

            The thing about wolves was they were dangerous. They were wild creatures and not respecting that, you would lose fingers.

            But if no one had ever given a wolf a chance, dogs wouldn’t exist.

            He extended his hand once again, open this time.

            “Hi. I’m Lance. Maybe you’ve heard of me, I’ve got a pretty cool show. And, more importantly- I have a business proposal.”

            There was a rather lengthy evaluative pause before the stranger clasped it.

            “Keith.”


	3. The Omen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets acquainted, and Hunk has some second thoughts.

            The first thing out of Hunk was a laugh, followed by “Oh no, you’re serious.” Which was not a heartening sign.

            “You were the one saying we needed more people heading towards the capital!”

            “Actually,” Pidge lofted a hand from her perch on a small stack of crates, legs swinging freely above the grass, “that was me, and I _actually_ said that if you ever made me haul most of a dead pig on my own again that I would bury you in the woods and leave you for the squirrels. And I don’t know about this either.”

            “ _Thank_ you, Pidge,” Hunk rounded back to Lance with a jingle of colorful earrings. “We can hire somebody else! Somebody who’s not _actively in prison_ , just for starters here!”

            “Well, he’s _not_ in prison, ‘cause I already paid his bail, so, that’s your first problem right there.”

            Two sets of eyes, one green, one brown, exchanged looks. It was Pidge who ended up vocalizing the thought they clearly both shared. “Wait. Then, you’re saying he…”

            A loud yelp sounded across the campground, over behind the tent, near where they’d left the… Wagon.

            Lance did the math fast.

            It would be more accurate to say he vaulted the crates and hit the ground behind them at a dead sprint; Pidge had dived out of the way, stumbled, rebounded, and caught up to him in record time.

            There was their hired help- the sword that the guards had reluctantly relinquished clear of its scabbard and brandished towards the open back of the wagon, Keith’s body tight as a string. Wide eyes caught onto Lance and Pidge out of the corners, and he made a wide, vague motion with the weapon’s tip. “Stay away!”

            Pidge seemed in a sort of daze- her hat gripped white-knuckled in one hand, staring at the sword.

            Lance, fortunately, was not. “What’re you doing?”

            “There’s something _in_ there!”

            “Yeah, and she doesn’t like being pointed at, chill the hell out, man.” He pushed against the flat of the blade with one hand, surprised when the other’s arm didn’t budge, but Keith acquiesced, fractionally, staring at him with brows furrowed.

            “… _she_?”

             Pidge came back to herself- she put her hat back on and settled it into place. “Uh, yeah. She. Blue’s a girl.”

            Keith’s look of confusion wasn’t clearing; Lance glanced back towards the wagon, an idea popping into mind.

            “She’s probably hungry,” Pidge was saying, “since _Lance_ usually feeds her around now, but he forgets about it so I have to- …what are you doing?”

            He’d stepped towards the back of the wagon and unhitched the ramp, holding his hand out, fingers curled, making encouraging little noises.

            What came down the walkway was a cat- larger than any that would be found in the woods around here, easily the size of a plowman’s horse; glossy raven-blue fur with gray throat and belly, a brush of silver crowning the tip of her tail. She lowered her head to press against his, a warm breath washing over his face before she pushed a bit past him, resting her jaw on his shoulder to peer at Keith.

            “She’s the star of the show! I said it on the flier: live, onstage tiger.”

            Blue woofed softly, plaintively.

            He leaned into her, “I _knowww_ , you’re a beautiful lion, but keeping lions is illegal, and I’m too pretty to go to jail.”

            Keith hadn’t moved, he realized. In fact, he didn’t think the other had moved since he’d let Blue out. Which was, a little worrying, even if it was hard to focus on that because Blue had decided right then to lovingly mouth his ear as a reminder that it _was_ time for her breakfast.

            Pidge ventured over to peer at him, nudging him with her elbow then stepping back when he flinched, the sword still in his hand. Blue growled slightly, which seemed to startle him a second time.

            “Hey- easy. We’re all okay here-” Lance rested a hand on the lion’s muscular chest. “-Blue’s super safe. You scared her, okay? You just got to put the sword away. Easy does it, nice and slow.”

            At first, he wasn’t sure Keith was even going to listen to him- he stood rooted to the spot, staring down the cat, fine beads of sweat along his hairline. But then- slowly, reluctantly, he obliged.

            Lance could feel Blue relax, and she took her head off his shoulder, walking over to the food crates and sniffing hopefully at them.

            Keith’s reaction, though, bothered him. “…Hey, it’s okay, she’s big but I _promise_ not dangerous, and if she scares you then we can-”

            “It’s not that,” he said quickly- then paused, frowned, turned to look away from Lance.

            “Then… what was?”

            It was difficult to see Keith’s face from this angle, but his posture suggested malcontent.

            He didn’t have any time to consider it, because a moment later, Hunk approached at a run, a familiar leather bag tucked under his arm.

            “Okay! I’m here, I got poultices, who got murdered.” He paused, scanning the parties- Pidge, trying to dissuade Blue from prying a crate open, pushing the big cat’s nose ineffectively; Lance and Keith, standing off, the latter having startled out of his private sulk by the force of the arrival. Hunk brandished a finger in his direction. “Was it you? Was it- okay, that didn’t go as bad as I thought.” He slung the satchel over his shoulder.

            Since Keith seemed pretty much dumbfounded at this- Lance moved forwards, negotiating around Hunk’s side. “This is Hunk, he’s our lead-”

            “-Concessions maker, set builder, wagon-fixer… I do pretty much everything around here.”

            Lance nodded along. “And, Hunk, this is Keith.”

            A prompting pause followed, in which Keith fiddled with the scarf he’d tied over his mouth and nose. “Hi,” he mumbled.

            Hunk raised his eyebrows, and a moment later a warm, heavy hand settled on Lance’s shoulder to redirect him into a huddle.

            “You’re _really_ sure about this guy?”

            “Hunk? Look at him. He’s like a fencepost with a sword.”

            “That can hear you,” Keith offered, raising his voice for nearly the first time since Lance had met him.

            “And I’m vouching for your good character.” Lance straightened. Behind him, Pidge seemed to have given up the fight after deciding the contents of the crate weren’t important enough, and Blue was tearing off contented mouthfuls of meat. (“That better not be the good sirloin,” “It’s not, it’s the usual stuff.”)

            “By calling me a fencepost?”

            In hindsight, kind of a low blow for a guy who’d been stealing food, but, before he had anything more to say about that, Keith had focused on something else. “What even is this… _show_?”

            “Ever heard of _The King and The Dragon_?”

            A slow blink. “No?”

            “Seriously? Practically a classic. Legendary hero king fights a giant evil monster, wins, gets hurt, uses the last of his strength to save his daughter by setting her to escape on a ship. I’ve heard people call it the greatest love story of all time.”

            Pidge, at his elbow, raised a hand. “I play the princess. Hunk’s the king. Blue’s our… ‘dragon’.”

            “So it’s a king and a _tiger_ , most other guys are doing this gig with five guys wearing a boat sail, we’re still way cooler. Anyway, it’s a total classic. Actual play is like eight acts with two intermissions but we just grab the version everybody knows, throw some glittery outfits in there and cool fight scenes, change up the special effects.”

            Keith mulled it over, arms folded, frowning into his scarf. He didn’t look as _impressed_ as Lance had hoped, but, at bare minimum, thoughtful. A moment later he looked up. “So… what do you want _me_ to do? I don’t… act. And I’m not gonna be anybody’s _circus freak_.” Something steely glinted in his eyes.

            That brought a scowl. “Well, good, because we’re not a pack of _two-bit con artists_.” He took a deep breath, raising his hands after a moment. “Look. I don’t know what kind of weird crap you have going on, but, mostly? We need a guard, and somebody to help with effects. Behind the stage stuff. Audience won’t even see you except right at the end, and if you don’t wanna do that, we can work with it. And I mean what I said, you don’t owe me for the bail thing. If you don’t like the job, you can hang out with us ‘til next town and we’ll drop you off there. No biggie.”

            Silence; Keith staring at the ground, fiddling with the grip of his weapon. It was an odd thing- glossy black, so smooth in its fittings that it almost looked like it had grown together rather than been forged. The hilt was tied off in a knot of ratty cloth, in contrast to the unblemished surface. Frankly, it looked in better shape than the thrice-patched scabbard that housed it.

            He had to wonder why someone who seemingly couldn’t afford to eat on a regular basis would hang onto a sword like that. There had to have been people trying to buy it off him.

            Then Keith looked him directly in the eye, sharply. “I need to get to Leos.”

            Of anywhere in the continent a vagrant mercenary- especially an alleged Blackblood- could possibly go to, the capital city wasn’t… well if _he_ was a wanted dark magic user, it’s not where he’d go. “Why?”

            Hesitation. The movement of his jaw suggested a pout, almost.

            Lance folded his arms and waited.

            “…Something’s going to happen. I need to be there when it does. That’s all.” His shoulders set, eyes narrowed. “You don’t _have_ to believe me-”

            “Who says I don’t believe you?”

            Hunk raised a hand. “I don’t. Last time I talked to a seer they told me I was going to face my destiny in the mountains. Since then, been to a lot of mountains, _no destiny_.” He eyed Keith a moment. “No offense. You got your weird business in Leos going on, great. Long as you don’t get anybody killed or drop a set piece on Pidge, we’re great.” And with that, he ambled off, shooing Blue back into her wagon where she’d rested a heavy paw on one of the other boxes.

            “I’m not a seer,” Keith mumbled.

            “Then how do you know you have to go to Leos?”

            “Someone told me.” A small sigh escaped, Keith raking a hand through his bangs. “He said it was important, and I trust him.”

            “…What did he say was going to happen?”

            “Someone’s going to cut down the sky.”


	4. Of Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith qualifies his cryptic statement a little more, and Lance takes him through the ropes.

            “But what does that mean?”

            It was the first thing out of his mouth, before he could think it through, and it was clearly the wrong thing to say, the way the older man _closed_. It wasn’t disapproval- he sort of wished it was. But the vulnerable way the shoulders came inwards and drooped, cradling his right arm, that was… worse.

            Keith frowned, pursed his lips, tried again. “Cut down the sky? Is that possible?”

            “…It is.” A whisper, almost a rasp; but hearing that voice straining against disuse and exhaustion was something, at least; to see dark eyes lifted to the starlit heavens instead of boring vacantly into the shadows.

            There were a lot more questions he wanted to ask, things he wanted to say, but he forced himself to slow down, breathe, pick the words carefully. He never had an _art_ for words, never needed it, but here, with _him_ , the cold of the mountainside picking through the material of their cheap travelers’ cloaks, he wished he did.

            Maybe someone better at talking could chase the ghosts out from behind those eyes a little more.

            “Shiro, I- I want to help, but I don’t know what to do. You’ve got to talk to me.”

            “There’s not much.” But he leaned forwards, like a rusty device, creaked at the joints until he could place his black hand to the dirt by the campfire. He pressed until the print was deep, pulled back and made a thumb-mark at the center. “You need to find the stars. They’re around the kingdom… I don’t know where. One should be in the center…”

            “The center? Leos?”

            Slowly, eventually a nod. He couldn’t see Shiro’s eyes to be sure- even twisted in odd braids there was too much hair, and it hung in his face too easily. Keith leaned around the fire to look at the mark. He stared at it, until he realized that Shiro was climbing slowly to his feet.

            “Wait-!”

            An obliging pause, one heavy stride coming to a stop. There was tiredness etched in every line of his features when he looked back, and the shadows under his eyes were deep.

            Again, Keith chose his words, tried to lace them together. Like threading a needle to mend his pants- patience, patience, patience. “I know you don’t sleep, but I do. And there’s… probably bears. So…” he looked around the edge of the fire, like he was searching for something- the ability to sound convincing, perhaps. “I think you should stay for the night. In case there’s a bear.”

            What escaped with a small breath was a smile, a real one- one of the rare ones that reminded him that Shiro couldn’t be that old, not old enough for the way his shoulders bowed from the weight of his armor, not old enough for the way he eased down, conceded, settled cross-legged at an almost arthritic pace, mismatched hands propping onto his knees.

            It was a childish little lie, and they both knew better. They knew Keith would never stay sleeping unwary with something creeping onto his campsite- and no bear would come investigate with his scent in the air.

            He knew, though he didn’t know why, that sometime before dawn Shiro would walk back into the shadows, as if he were never there, no trace of an unshaven warrior in ash-covered armor. And some day in the future, as he had the very first time- he would walk out of those shadows, still tired, battered from the interim, but always with the same sense of certainty. Of urgency.

            He wondered why Shiro traveled alone. Never quite found the right way to ask- tried sometimes, but didn’t get much back as an answer. He knew why he himself did- but that was loneliness, that was a curse, and if they were both cursed, there was nothing there Shiro had to hide. If he had to avoid towns, if Shiro couldn’t walk in sunlight- that would be fine. They were concessions he could make, would make- in a heartbeat. He’d find a way. For Shiro.

            But when he closed his eyes watching that tired smile through the firelight, he opened them alone, campfire long burnt out, and nothing but the handprint in the dirt to suggest another person had been there.

* * *

            Across the table, the big man- the one called “Hunk”- was regarding him skeptically. “Okay,” he said at great length, and ladled another serving of soup into the bowl as if that had anything to do with Keith’s words.

            Traitorously, he downed the entire thing in an instant. If this was how these people ate, he might lose track of his ribs for the first time in the last ten years by the time they made it to Leos.

            “ _Okay_? That’s all you have to say?” His glare was weakened by the drop of soup clinging to his chin.

            A shrug. “Okay, so you hang out with a freaky guy and he told you to look for stars. Are they- what, big? Small? A metaphor? And Leos is like… huge, so how are you even gonna find anything once you get there?”

            “I don’t _know_ ,” he stared down at the bowl, a chunk of something- potato? –resting at the bottom in a tiny pool of broth. Would it look desperate to fish that out, he wondered. “I know I will. I have to.”

            “See that’s my problem, there’s a difference between, ‘you’ve gotta’ and ‘you’re gonna’. Like that time my aunt said I had to learn how to sail. Guess what, Aunt Christa, I’m a couple thousand miles inland and I still don’t know how to man a tiller!” He glanced back at Keith, who’d been tilting the bowl experimentally to see if he couldn’t coax the potato piece closer to the edge, but set it down and frowned when he caught Hunk’s eye. “Seriously though, what are you gonna do? Can you get your buddy to draw you a picture or something?”

            “I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

            “Figure what out?”

            The girl that wandered over to the table had a riot of coppery curls that nearly buried her face, even with the use of the clip that bound them in a high ponytail, dressed in a spring green pinafore and white blouse with wide sleeves. She plunked in the bench next to him, received her own helping of soup, and set into it with enthusiasm.

            “Something about finding stars that a guy on a mountain told him.”

            The redhead wagged a spoon. “Good for you. Astronomy’s hard if you’re self-taught.”

            This managed to crack loose what Keith had been struggling with the entire time.

            “ _Who are you_?”

            Hunk blinked, shared a look with the redhead, and then back to Keith.

            They both “ohh”ed at the same time.

            And then, in rapid succession- “It’s Pidge,” “I’m Pidge.”

            Keith paused. Squinted. Leaned forwards slightly, until the girl leaned back and he realized he’d overstepped a boundary and backed up. “You looked completely different earlier.”

            “Uh-huh. I do that.”

            “I’m pretty sure your nose was broken.”

            Hunk made an indifferent noise, holding one hand level and tilting it back and forth as if it were a tightrope act. “I think that one’s supposed to be healed crooked?”

            That didn’t change the fact that, looking at her now, she had a much straighter nose, and clearer skin. And brown eyes, instead of green ones, though she was more interested in food than letting him stare at her face, and that reminded him of the potato chunk, which he dug out and swallowed somewhat irritably.

            Which was of course the exact time she started talking to him again. “So why do you want to look for stars? It’s not the best way to navigate.”

            “Maybe for you, but, pretty sure that’s not what he’s talking about. It’s some kinda magical metaphor, which-” and his attention stubbornly returned to Keith, “Seriously, was that the last time you saw him, or-”

            He brought the bowl down harder than he meant, surging to his feet. “ _Look_ , none of this matters to you, it’s not what I got hired for, and if you’ve got a really big problem with that, take it up with your chatty friend, all right?”

            The tent flap was still swinging closed behind him when he heard a parting, “Well, what’s his problem?”

            The cold air reminded him to pull his scarf up over his mouth and nose, glancing around the campsite. A few girls from town were mingling by a larger tent, and his employer- Lance- was talking to them with great enthusiasm.

            Strange person. He and Hunk dressed similarly, sturdy canvas pants and sandals- and the earrings, all of some iridescent stone, not merely at the lobes but all the way up the curl. Hunk at least wore just a simple, many-pocketed leather apron over his shirt- Lance for some reason covered his entire torso with a piece of eye-smarting blue cloth tied over one shoulder and looped left to right.

            He might’ve reflected on it further, if Lance hadn’t spotted him at that point, and- slowly, with a given amount of reluctance and batting eyes- detangled from the village girls, jogging over. “Hey! Great timing, I wanted to show you how to work the props, put some extra razzle dazzle in there. Intel says we’ve actually got most of the town coming and with two hands we can do some good stuff.”

            “ _Intel_?” he echoed, faintly. “You mean the people you were just _hitting on_?”

            Lance didn’t even seem fazed. “I was multitasking.” And just that easily he’d breezed past Keith, heading towards the main tent.

            He had to jog to keep up, surprising since Lance was only a few inches taller. And slowed down again when he saw what was inside.

            Cushions and blankets were spread out for an audience, but almost half the room was taken up by a wooden stage, large folds of the tent falling on either side of it.

            “Neat, huh?” Lance vaulted the stage, twirling to face the rest of the tent. “This is where I go,” and he puffed out his chest, and suddenly it was as if his voice echoed throughout the tent, “Good people of Clocksburg! For your awe and entertainment, tears and laughter, _The King And The Dragon_ , the story you all know like you’ve never seen it before!”

            As if he’d done nothing at all, he lowered his arms, grinning at Keith. “Hunk and I have done this like a zillion times, so we know all the lines and stuff by heart. Pidge forgets sometimes but she’s getting the hang of it. Not that Jenny wasn’t a great princess but she ran off to become a milliner last time we were in King’s Fording.”

            Keith found his voice. “How did you do that?”

            With a surreptitious grin, Lance helped him onto the podium. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a trick up my sleeve. Or, on my neck.”

            He looked at Lance’s throat. It was covered mostly by his shirt collar, but, that didn’t seem like anything in much detail. “…What about it?”

            Lance’s fingertips found the highest button on his collar and undid it easily, tugging the fabric down.

            For a brief, horrible moment, Keith thought they were wounds- flushed faintly pink, wide slashes on either side of Lance’s neck that fluttered slightly as the other boy breathed. But the skin folded over them perfectly, soft and healthy and unbroken. A moment later, he placed them:

            “ _Gills_?”

            Lance fixed his collar. “Pretty much everybody in the islands has mer blood somewhere in their family. I’ve only got a little, and Hunk’s got less than me, but it means I can do some cool stuff with my voice.” He coughed a moment later, winced. “Just not too much, if it’s really dry out.”

            Islands. Siren Islands. That- the earrings, the odd clothes, Hunk had said something about sailing- it made sense. And maybe that explained something _else_ , too.

            “…Is that why you wanted to help me? Cause you’re…” he struggled for a word. “…different, too?”

            Lance shrugged at him. “I mean, I don’t really think you cursed some guy-”

            “ _I didn’t_!” Keith felt heat rush to his face, caught the way his voice rose and tried to pull it back down. “I don’t… I can’t do things like that.”

            A pause. “So… what _is_ your thing? Like, your teeth-”

            He reflexively put a hand over his mouth, pressing the fabric of his mask closer.

            Another shrug. “It was kinda obvious when you were eating. So that and… is that it?”

            Keith didn’t relax much. “…I see things, sometimes. Places I haven’t been. People I don’t know. It’s… I’m pretty sure it’s real. Sometimes I can tell if something’s about to happen. It’s not _reliable_ so if anything goes wrong and I didn’t tell you it’s not because-”

            “Whoa, whoa. Easy. Seeing’s weird and hard, I get it. I had a grandma who was a seer, and every time the monsoons were early-”

            “I’m not a _seer_.”

            Lance paused. A very skeptical look crossed his features. A moment later, he put his hands in his pockets. “Okay, not-a-seer. There’s one more thing I gotta tell you about.” He sauntered off to the side of the stage, into the wings, between the curtains, to something that looked like a good-sized, garishly painted…

            “A box?”

            He didn’t care for the way the taller boy slung an arm over his shoulder, leaning conspiratorially close. “The _best_ box.” Thankfully, a moment later, he was more focused on the thing itself, unlatching a panel from the front revealing a set of keyboards and buttons like Keith would expect from an accordion. “Usually, we can’t use this baby for much, ‘cause Hunk’s the king, Pidge is the Princess, and I’m… literally everybody else. But,” a bright smile flashed at Keith, “I can teach you how to work this thing, you can stay back here the entire time, and it’ll go _fantastic_. We could do a show with full sound for the first time in _ever_.”

            Keith blinked. “Full sound? What do you mean?”

            With an uncomfortably knowing smile, Lance tapped a key- and the unmistakable sound of thunder boomed out of the box.

            It was a good thing Keith had his scarf up. He might’ve been gaping more than a little.

            “Now the only question is, how good’s your memory?”


	5. Murmur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in Leos...

            He found her in the room overlooking the lake, windows open and the curtains fluttering in the welcome breeze. A warm day, with just enough wind to keep the sun pleasant but not intrusive, even for his tastes.

            “Chancellor,” the young queen greeted him, blue eyes lifted. “What a surprise.”

            He had never seen blue eyes before coming to this land; they were not native to his people, but here they were plentiful, even if few quite as vivid as Her Majesty’s.

            “Unusual to see me not buried in paper, I expect.” He cracked a faint smile, a joke at his own expense, but easily.

            The queen smiled, traced the edge of her teacup with a fingertip. One of the particular silent servants always found in her wake was seated across from her- a handmaiden, with rosy-colored hair that tumbled past her shoulders in waves. The servant’s attention shifted only briefly in his direction, then back to her knitting. Not speaking, as always, but bequeathed with a keen sense of _knowing_.

            The pale servants unnerved many within the castle.

            Predictable foibles, predictable disquiet. They were hewn of old magic, the very power that flowed in the queen’s veins- before less ancient things had paved the way for life as the people of the kingdom knew it.

            “We all ask so much of you,” the queen spoke at last, setting her cup aside. “I wish I felt as if I deserve it.”

            A pause. It was a rare admission, from one such as her, and not one to be fumbled artlessly. “Forgive me for saying so, Your Majesty, but that’s rather unexpected. By all accounts, your people adore you. Even coming to the throne unexpectedly as you have, you’ve done much to inspire their loyalty.”

            “That’s precisely what worries me.” The words carried past her lips in a sigh. “I wasn’t ready for this thousands of years ago. So much has changed, and I’ve seen none of it. And lately, I’ve felt as if all of my fears simply waited for me to wake up.”

            His expression darkened. “…The scouting expedition?”

            “They’re still on their way to Charon. So far, nothing is wrong, but… I worry. It’s so close to the border, and…” she frowned over the words and rows.

            “I am not personally familiar with the captain…” but he’d heard the tales, no less. From sources within and without the castle. It sounded fantastical. Those that vanished at the edge of the kingdom usually did not return, and the state in which that exception had occurred…

            “But?”

            A faint tweak of the mouth, something that approximated a smile. Another foreign thing he’d learned, the flexing of the lips and jaw to communicate sentiment. “He seems an honorable man,” he said instead. “One certainly worthy of his position, despite his age.”

            The queen sighed, fiddled with a dense curl of silver that had sprung free of her braids and pins. “I know that he is. I wouldn’t have asked this of him if I did not trust him.” Drawing upright, she cast a dark look across the table. “It’s stupid of me to fret like this. I have a country relying on me.”

            Almost unnoticed, the servant missed a stitch, lamplike red eyes peering at the queen.

            Once again, he took time to select his words. “Fear and worry heed neither god nor man, my queen. Whether or not you find them foolish, even the gifts of your bloodline, and the wisdom of kingdoms long before Arus, cannot tame something as complicated as the heart.”

            “Is that a saying from your country?”

            Her tone was thoughtful, rather than offended, and he took it as heartening enough to smile again. “More of a personal one.”

            “It’s wise, regardless.” She remembered her tea, took a sip of it, and settled back. His nose picked out the choice of herbs- aegis and clifflower. Soothers of the spirit, or so herbalists would attest. Seemingly, she had worried even her silent attendants. “The business of this tower in particular troubles me.”

            He felt himself stiffen, at that.

            “The galra haven’t been seen on the surface in years. Even as dangerous as the land beyond the border remains… in recent days, it’s as if they’ve grown even more inhospitable. In the last five years alone…”

            A most unusual thread to trace to its source. “Your Majesty feels as if it were timed with your own revival?”

            Her gaze darkened. It was such a somber expression on a young face. Child of a holy people or not, and what a thing to place on herself it was.

            Silence, uneasily in the room. The pale servant had stopped watching her liege and shifted her attention to him, expression thoughtful.

            A moment later the queen shook her head. “Never mind that. Is something the matter? I… assume you came here with a concern.”

            He had.

            “I was merely stretching my legs for a moment, and didn’t realize the room was occupied.”

            A blink. “Oh. I see.” Uncertainly, her features softened, turned to the window. “I suppose it is a lovely day.”

            Beyond the windows, there spread Leos, gleaming and alive, new stones and old ones cobbled together into the same streets and buildings, storefronts and balconies. Grand and messy was the tempo of the city’s pulse, and far spread her arteries, the new roads reaching out to the horizon. Somewhere beyond his gaze, they attenuated, turned from brick to stone, then dirt, then dust, dissolved into the grass.

            But the old roads did not wither, did not crumble. And they, too, were veins.

            He envied the people that lived in ignorance of the heart those veins fed. That was what had surprised him, more than anything else- more than blue eyes and soft, pliant expressions. In this country, people were idle, happy— or, perhaps not those things in entirety, but their concerns were personal, with a faith in the world that was taken for granted. That it always had been; would always be there.

            He considered another avenue, something that let him draw from his thoughts to the present, turning his gaze to the young queen.

            “Perhaps you might consider a vacation?”

            The young queen’s brows lifted. She shared a look, difficult to discern, with the servant, who seemed faintly amused. “This hardly seems the time.”

            “A truly urgent report can find you anywhere in the kingdom, and if nothing of pressing concern is found, it will take the knights days to return.” His mouth shifted, unsure of what to do with itself. They wore so many faces in these lands. “Because of the king’s health, you weren’t able to complete your travels before coronation.” And she hadn’t left since then. Too busy.

            She had appointments, things that could be rescheduled, arranged- perhaps one of the _other_ living relics that accompanied her could be leveraged to assist, the only one of her personal retinue not merely a construct of ancient power. He could most likely be counted on for his assistance in this regard.

            It was clear she was considering it, mused over another sip of the tea. “…It might be good to get out of the castle for a time,” she conceded. “I would have to look over potential destinations…”

            The pale servant lifted her head suddenly, towards the window- the only warning he had before a bird threw itself in the open window, white pinions tinged with blue- and a ribbon tied around its leg, bearing a folded envelope. The queen rose, startled from her chair, freed the letter from it, snapped its seal with a fingernail, her eyes flitting over the words.

            He couldn’t read over her shoulder from the angle he stood at, but her face told him well enough what she found in its contents. “News from the expedition?”

            She turned the paper towards him. He skimmed it- reread more slowly. It was only in an afterthought he realized that he’d reflexively grit his teeth, and forced himself to relax his jaw.

            “…A vacation will have to wait for another time, it seems,” she offered in the silence, brows creased in an attempt at humor. Looking down at the letter, then over at the bird, waiting patiently for dismissal, “…I mustn’t keep them waiting. I’m sorry, Chancellor, I should really pen a reply.” She stroked the bird’s head with her thumb, sat back down and pushed her teacup aside.

            “Shall I send for the advisor?”

            A refusal had started to form on her lips, but it faded, hesitated. “…I would appreciate it.”

            He nodded, moved to the door. Paused, there, his hand on the knob.

            “Grave tidings as it is, it may not be what Your Majesty fears of it.”

            He felt her eyes on his back, curious, inquiring.

            They were simple sort of words- words he didn’t entirely believe in, a catch he hadn’t put much thought into assembling. He wondered if that was enough, if her power warned her of such things, and to what degree. If she could see through him, and to what degree.

            Perhaps, in that regard, he really was no better than those who flinched at the pale servants.

            It was hard to tell, with the old magic.

            A small breath escaped the young queen.

            “Chancellor Thace?”

            “Yes?”

            “Thank you.”


	6. Smoke Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt this heartfelt production...

            It burned, and the smoke filled his lungs, but he wouldn’t look away, he couldn’t look away, as if something was making him watch, watch the fire and the bodies.

            There weren’t many. He walked closer- he didn’t want to be closer, didn’t want to look at their faces, didn’t want to touch it but he kicked it over with a booted foot, looked down into open eyes.

            The hand that came down to close them wasn’t his, but he felt its movements, his shoulder, his arm, but the fingers were capped with talons- they strained against the fabric of the glove that covered it.

            He was still breathing the ashes, even with the scarf that covered his mouth, looser than the one he was used to, blue instead of red, draped over the breastplate of unfamiliar armor- black armor.

            Without being bidden his eyes lifted away from it, towards the horizon, the mountains, the sky overhead- looked to the tower, so far behind him, but not far enough. It wouldn’t be enough, not now, not when they’d already struck here as well, and he started to run, vaulting what remained of a rusting fence- a sound from overhead- creaking, groaning, the entire second floor of a building, coming down, crashing towards him and-

* * *

            Arms, someone holding him. Distant murky voices, incoherent, but there was no sky any more, just cloth, folds of it, high overhead. Someone pulled the scarf from his face, something moved in his vision.

            He recoiled, nearly retched, shoved back away from the _thing_ that had just been put under his nose- glass bottle, he realized, a second later, bottle being capped by the big man- Hunk- with a grim frown on his face. Lance and Pidge were hovering nearby, bright eyes, full of concern.

            “What _was_ that?” he spat, still choking on the fumes. They weren’t smoke, maybe, but they were even _more_ noxious.

            “That’s _our_ line!” Lance stared him down. “You just _dropped_ in the middle of the show!”

            The show. Right. He remembered- he looked towards the box, discovering a tender spot on the back of his head with his fingers. He must’ve hit it on the edge. That explained a couple of things- Hunk was still wearing his prop armor, Pidge looking more like a princess with ringlets unpinned and a heavily-but-cheaply embroidered dress. But that also meant-

            A hot breath on his neck, and a warm nose brushed his bangs. Keith tried to push the lion away- ineffectively, as she simply braced herself by planting a foot directly on his stomach and moved in to sniff him harder.

            “Blue, c’mon, give him a break, he’s already had a hard time.”

            The big cat’s ears perked, looking at Lance, and then withdrew, circling around, still staring directly at him in that… too _knowing_ sort of way, at least he expected. It was hard to say for sure with his eyes still streaming from the _stench_ of whatever had been in that bottle.

            A silence, one that he parsed a moment later as expectant. Waiting for him to… say something. Explain, probably.

            “…I…” He looked towards the light, towards the front of the stage- it was quiet. Had they already left…? “There was the…”

            Storm. He remembered the storm in the play, tapping the keys for thunder and lightning, trying to find the right rhythm, thinking that Lance had been right, it wasn’t hard to get the hang of, and then he’d smelled the-

            “The fire!” He jumped to his feet- the world swam. Lance caught him this time- Hunk lifted the vial again but hesitated when he flinched. “Something’s- it went wrong, the town is-”

            They were looking at him. He glanced between their faces, trying to figure out what they meant. “…What?”

            “Clocksburg’s _fine_.” Pidge jerked a thumb at the opening of the tent. “Everybody went home a little while ago. Worst thing that happened was we thought the sounding box broke or you needed a break so we finished the show without it, and when Lance went back to check on you, he found you out cold on the floor. There’s no fire or anything.”

            Something cold twisted in Keith’s stomach. “…It’s not here yet.”

            “What? What isn’t here yet?” Hunk’s eyes shifted side to side- it was the first time he’d seen the big man look _scared_. “Can you clarify that? Like… how much should I be freaking out right now, ‘cause I’m freaking out at least a little.”

            Lance had leaned in closer at some point, studying him with interest. He hadn’t realized how _blue_ Lance’s eyes were, just as bright and intense as those of the cat he kept. A beautiful color, a deep color. He’d heard stories about the color of the southern sea- heard stories that mermaids were so beautiful that people used to throw themselves off ships to be with them.

            “Is this a seeing thing?”

            The usual refusal was on his tongue until he realized there was no judgment in Lance’s tone, no demand, no sense of- _you’d better be right about this_.

            He swallowed dryly, looked back up to those eyes. “…I think so.”

            Lance moved back, gave him some space. “What’s it telling you?”

            That was harder. He tried to turn inwards, focus, think. He was thinking a lot of things, but one of them- somewhere there was that underlying thing, not quite a thought, more of an itch, a _need_ , he had to run, he had to-

            His feet pulled him towards the opening of the tent. The dizziness of the dream seemed to have faded; in its place restlessness tingled. The night air was cool on his skin, Clocksburg to one side, and on the other- the forest. The spaces between the trees were dark and deep, they swallowed the light from the queenlamps like hungry throats- mouths, teeth, at the edge of the village, huddled not in rows like soldiers but like wolves looking for a feast, meat, blood-

            He could smell blood. Coppery tang in the air, and he was running now, into the trees and the dark, following the odor more than the feeling even though it was louder now, screaming in his ears.

            The road through the woods was empty.

            “…So,” that was Hunk- Keith jolted in place, not realizing they’d followed him, but there they were, Pidge holding two handfuls of her dress to bare gangly ankles and sturdy, un-princess-like shoes. “Is this another, it’s not coming yet, thing, or a misfire, or-”

            “There’s blood.”

            “What?”

            He turned his head side to side, breathed. “Can’t you smell it? I’m still a little shot from that… thing you made me breathe.” He pushed ahead down the path, still breathing, still trying to find it.

            A rustle, Pidge crossing her arms. “You’re crazy.”

            “I think he’s right,” Lance offered. He had a hand on Blue’s ruff- the fur beneath his fingers bristled, the big cat’s mouth slightly open. “Blue’s got it too.”

            Pidge’s expression dropped. “…Okay, then what is it? Can you be any more-”

            Footfalls. Large, heavy- something moving in the dark. Rustling. Shifting metal.

            Something clicked audibly in Hunk’s hands, and yellow light flooded over the path. Its light reflected hard off of the barding of a warhorse. The creature balked, jostling its limp rider, but their grip on the reins stayed steady.

            Lance was running out to them before Keith had even realized what was happening. Blue stayed where she was, head lifted, watching the horse impassively.

            They stank of blood, both of them, blood and sweat and something else earthy he couldn’t place. At first he thought they were unconscious, but, they released the reins as Lance pulled them from the horse, a tight, pained breath escaping.

            Hunk was quick to follow, sucking in a breath through his teeth and patting himself down. “I don’t have my satchel.” His eyes landed on Keith. “It’s back in the cart.”

            There was a lot of blood. He was used to blood, more or less- the few times he’d been able to hunt, wounds and scrapes. His own- blue-black- and others, bright red.

            This was neither.

            “ _Keith_!” There was a light in Hunk’s eyes he’d never seen before. “I need you to focus. Satchel- cart. Get it. _Hurry_.”

            He bolted, back up the path, through the trees, towards the light of the tent, the glowing spheres strung along its edges. The cart was behind. He remembered his interior, what he’d seen of it- there was a sort of stall at the back where Blue stayed, a small room to the front.

            The interior was surprisingly cozy, warm and smelled of cedar, two beds fit close together- and there was the bag that Hunk had been carrying earlier. Sharp medicinal odors.

            Someone was lingering by the tent, short-cropped dark hair, sturdy shirt and pants. Someone from Clocksburg. “Hey, I wanted to-” she stopped at the sight of him, the look in his eyes. “…What happened?”

            “Someone’s hurt. I’ve gotta go.”

            He didn’t wait for her to ask more questions, running back to the road.

            Lance and Hunk had laid the rider on their back, and taken off the stranger’s armor. They seemed barely awake, rasping quietly around the wound. Something Keith couldn’t make out.

            Hunk snapped out a hand as soon as Keith approached. “Blue bottle with three zigzags in the stopper. Clean cloth, too.”

            He almost fumbled the satchel opening it- was surprised at the neatness of its interior, numerous small vials tucked into individual pockets and straps, little parcels tied with brown paper or jars with wax seals on their lids, odd lumps of wrapped cloth. The bottle itself held clear liquid that looked like water, but when he handed it over, Hunk glanced at it once, nodded slightly, then dropped some of it onto the cloth.

            “Okay, buddy, you’re not gonna thank me in a sec, but it’s better than an infection.” He dabbed at the wound- the stranger jolted, hissed through their teeth. Hunk folded the cloth, another dose of the blue bottle to the new part of it and saw to the other cuts with precise strokes. “Big brown jar with twine around the neck.”

            Keith had to rummage again- it was a squat, fat thing about the size of his fist, made of ceramic. This contained some kind of light brown paste that Hunk swept over the smaller cuts before wiping his hands on the rag, not caring where it, and his costume, were both becoming increasingly stained with blood. “Salve’s not gonna close the big one- and he’s lost a lot of blood. Pidge, think you can run and get someone from town? They’ve gotta have a doctor here, right?”

            “No need.” Lance pointed- there were growing lights, a few people Keith recognized as some of the guards he’d fought. He stiffened- the horse tossed its head, tugging against Pidge’s grip on the reins- but the guards swept past him without a second look. Two of them had brought a litter- Hunk pushed his tools back into Keith’s grip, helped them load the body onto the cloth and then a moment later he took up one end himself, still talking.

            He didn’t notice when Lance slowly eased the satchel out of his grip, putting the jar and bottle away, or that Blue had retreated into the shadows at some point- just that Pidge was still gripping the horses’ reins in one hand and a handful of her skirt in the other, still dressed like a princess but her face paled blotchily and wide, scared, young eyes.

            He didn’t move until she made a tug on the warhorse’s reins and, stumbling like an automaton that was remembering how to walk, followed after the retreating villagers, and then, only then did he start after her.

            Because he’d looked at the stranger’s face, seen it clearly.

            It was Shiro.


	7. Familiar and Unfamiliar

            It _had_ been him.

            Almost.

            But it wasn’t right- and that thought was the catch. What did he really know about Shiro- where he went, what he did- what did he understand enough to say for sure this wasn’t normal, to act like he could put any meaningful fact to the jangling sense of wrongness?

            Was it because he’d seen Shiro tired and injured many times, but never _helpless_ , never limp in the arms of strangers?

            Or just, for the first time, they weren’t alone together?

            He didn’t know. Too many questions and no way to pursue them just lying here.

            Eventually, he stopped trying to sleep, picking himself up off the floor of the cart. Pidge, bundled into one of the beds so tightly as to be barely identifiable as more than a lump of comforter, grunted, but didn’t stir. Her carpet of shocking red curls was stashed on a stand above the bed- what remained on her head was sandy brown and stuck out from the gap between pillow and coverlet.

            They’d offered him the other bed, and Keith had really tried- but it was soft enough to feel nearly suffocating. The blankets were better than his cape, though, so he’d taken them- the quilt was stuffed with down. Surprising, for traveling entertainers- he ran his hand over the surface before balling them up, tossing them onto the bed, and moving outside.

            Somehow in his unease and restlessness he’d passed the night, and it was now, by his reckoning, a little after dawn; light in the sky but mist clinging to the ground, wet grass underfoot, and nothing but clouds overhead. Raining faintly, the kind where he couldn’t see the drops but felt them on his skin

            “Huh. Didn’t think you were an early riser.”

            Lance raised a hand as Keith startled. “Easy, it’s just me.” A moment later he tucked that hand back into the pocket of his breeches, glancing over his shoulder. “Well, Hunk’s in the kitchen tent, but we’re not gonna hear from him until he’s got the stove started.” He’d switched out the blue drape for a dark green one that fell almost to his knees, sturdier gloves and boots. The shirt had a wide shallow collar, and he’d wrapped a scarf around his gills. He glanced downwards. “Don’t your feet get cold?”

            Keith dug bare toes into the damp grass. “No?”

            “Huh. I guess if you’re from up here, you’re used to it.” Lance pulled a face before a new thought seemed to strike him. “ _Are_ you from around here?”

            Keith picked at his sword’s wrappings. It was a bad habit, one that had made people react badly before but he couldn’t often still his hands when he was thinking. “…Hard to say. My dad traveled around a lot, and afterwards… I just kept going. I didn’t… really have anywhere to go before I met Shiro.”

            “Friend of yours?”

            He nodded.

            Then, just as casually, “is that the guy we found last night?”

            Something stuck in Keith’s throat.

            Lance regarded Keith sideways. Maybe it was just because of how he’d noticed it last night, but the vividness of those eyes bored into him. “Hunk told me what you told him.” A moment later they slid past, and the pressure was off. “This guy shows up and he’s a blackblood too, and then you were acting really weird about it, so I figured you had to know him.”

            “Yes. No.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

            That, evidently, wasn’t a response Lance had anticipated. “You’re not?”

            He _wasn’t_. A frustrated breath escaped, dragging his free hand through his hair. “He saved my _life_ , you’d think I’d _know_.”

            Belatedly, he remembered to look at Lance- the other boy’s expression surprised him. “Sounds like you’re not too good at this seeing thing.”

            Heat flooded his features. “Shut _up_.”

            Fortunately, he didn’t have to deal with whatever Lance might’ve said next- no sooner had Lance drawn breath than Hunk emerged, wearing a somewhat rough-knit-looking sweater with his usual apron over it. “Hey, Lance? Can you get your fanclub to quit breathing down my neck while I’m working with hot coals? They’re gonna make me burn something.”

            Lance set off at a hurry- whether because of the threat of burnt food or eagerness to flirt, Keith had no idea. He took his time tying his scarf in place before he followed into the kitchen tent.

            There was Hunk, to one side, ladling heaps of pale batter onto a metal tray with a warm contentedness as if he hadn’t just complained moments ago. Smoke from the little portable stove was curling around this end of the tent.

            To the other side, there was Lance with two town girls, one chattering high and fast, Lance matching her syllable for syllable. The other stood back with arms folded- she met his eyes across the tent, frowned, and looked away. He recognized her a moment later- the choppy-haired girl that’d been by the tents last night. She said something in an undertone, and Lance stopped, turned to look at Keith, and motioned him over.

            The more talkative girl quieted down as he approached, but the choppy-haired one sized him up at a glance and seemed to make up her mind. “That guy you found woke up.”

            There was something in her tone he couldn’t place. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

            “Didn’t say it wasn’t.”

            Lance interjected hopefully. “So, that’s nice. How’s he doing?”

            A shrug. “Ms. Gray can say more than me. Just figured you’d wanna know.”

            The shorter girl let out a deeply put-upon sigh. “And I thought you _actually_ wanted to let me talk to a cute boy for once.”

            Keith made up his mind, right then. “I have to see him.”

            Hunk had come up behind them at some point- quiet, for such a big man. “What, right now? Because I’ve got fresh pancakes like right here and-”

            “This is important,” Keith said, over the treacherous way his stomach shifted at the smell of those pancakes.

            The choppy-haired girl nodded. “I can take you there.” To her friend and Lance, she cast a thoughtful look. “You coming?”

            Hunk looked unimpressed. “I’ve got a fire going.” He shifted the plate he was holding. “And food.”

            Lance shrugged. “Think I’m going with Hunk on this one. Sure you guys don’t want breakfast first? We’ve always got extra.”

            The shorter girl brightened. “ _Can I_?”

            Choppy-haired girl merely grunted slightly. Keith was feeling the latter sentiment. “Let’s go,” he said to her.

            It was still quiet on the way across the field towards town. His guide set a pace that looked like an amble but was surprisingly fast, making the most of her long legs.

            “…Thanks,” he offered after a moment, into the silence.

            “Don’t mention it.”

            Somewhere in the fog, a bell tolled, singing the handful of hours the day had already claimed for itself. The streets were nearly empty- a few people here and there. A few people in white robes carrying lightstaffs, going from lamp to lamp and extinguishing them for the day. Of those people, a few gazes lingered on him, but slid easily off at the sight of his guide.

            The quiet was pleasant, the stones cool underfoot. The rain became a bit more earnest, peppering his bare shoulders, but at that point, they arrived.

            The doctor’s office had pale yellow walls trimmed with white wood, though the lighting was surprisingly dim after the bright sunlight outside. Its proprietor- presumably Ms. Gray- was an aging woman whose thick dark braid traced a line down her sloping back. “Thank you, Arra,” she said softly to the girl, before turning her attention to Keith.

            He couldn’t help but fidget a little under those eyes- there was an intensity there that seemed nearly at odds with her humble appearance.

            “Undernourished,” she tutted. “No wonder you’re so short. And not dressed for the weather at all, poor thing. If you were a customer of mine I’d prescribe you a thicker coat and a hot bowl of porridge.” As if she’d said nothing unusual, she creaked the wheels of her chair, turning down the hallway. “This way, then.”

            The room she led him to was brighter, though not sunny given the weather- it featured a large, open window close to the bed, sturdy curtains drawn back and secured by ropes.

            And there was Shiro.

            It couldn’t have been someone else. But at the same time, seeing him clearly in the light just made the differences stronger. Clean-shaven, not just on the face but his hair had been trimmed and tamed within an inch of his head, the only exception being a short plume of black that curled over the top of his forehead.

            Shiro- bright-eyed, alert, sitting straight. No scar on his face, no streak of white in his hair. And his hand… it took Keith a moment to spot it, resting on the nightstand. A complicated working of metal, wood and leather, straps lying open where they’d affix to his elbow and upper arm. Nothing like the stone gauntlet.

            (But same side, same arm, a part of his mind insisted, _that had to count for something, right?_ )

            “I hope I didn’t scare you,” the stranger-not-stranger said ruefully. A thin smile. It dragged Keith back out of his thoughts.

            He inhaled quickly- in a rush to form words without any idea which ones to shape. “No- no, you… you didn’t.”

            Liar.

            Something in Shiro’s expression fell, and for a wretched moment he was afraid that Shiro knew. Then, “I should thank you for what you did. I wasn’t sure I could actually make it to the next town.”

            Polite. Distant. The jangling sense of nerves got worse. “Hey, anytime, right..?” _I owe you. After how much you’ve done for me. I_ think _you’ve done for me_.

            He had to push himself to ask. “What were you doing out there?”

            Solemn. Shiro’s right arm twitched, the left coming up to rest on his knees. “I came from Charon. The town’s been attacked- it was burning by the time we got there.”

            Something climbed in Keith’s throat that tasted all too much like ashes and smoke.

            “We camped outside of town waiting for a reply- seeing if we could find any survivors. We were…” he took a breath, eyes closed. “Attacked in the night. Whoever hit us was fast, and not using normal weapons. I already told the guards about this, but if they overwhelmed a detachment of royal knights, I don’t want to send town militia after them.”

            Royal. Knights.

            Shiro must’ve read something in his face. “Sorry. I didn’t introduce myself, did I?” He leaned awkwardly across his body- wincing a bit as it jarred its side- to offer his left hand. “Takashi Shirogane. I’m a captain in the Order of the Lion.” Then, with a small smile, as if Keith didn’t already know that, “Friends call me Shiro.”


	8. Hit The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang finally gets ready to leave Clocksburg.

            “We dragged you off the road just last night and you want to go back out in the woods with gods-know-what out there?”

            It took a commitment of great personal effort to not clench his teeth. “I know how it sounds, but it’s what I _know_ is out there I’m more worried about.”

            The guardswoman regarded him very dryly. “Then we can send _our_ people-”

            “It’s safer to assume what attacked us also hit Charon, and Clocksburg isn’t that much bigger of a town. The last thing I want to do in this situation is thin your defenses.”

            “Captain, with all due respect, your proposed alternative is tying yourself to the saddle of your horse and riding into the woods to get killed. Ms. Gray’s a very good doctor, and on her estimations you shouldn’t even be on your feet right now, much less mounting a rescue.”

            He did not doubt Ms. Gray’s credentials, but he had a creeping suspicion that she had never treated someone _quite_ like him before.

            “The time I take recovering is time the other knights may not have. If there’s a chance they’re still alive, and still out there, I need to take it.”

            She shifted, slightly at that, still clearly not liking the matter at all but his words had some sort of purchase at least. “I’ll talk to the other guards. In the meantime, don’t do anything rash.”

            He knew what she was asking of him. He had no intention of following that request. “Thank you.”

            He left the building, stepped out into the street. The morning drizzle he’d heard from the window had propagated into a full downpour, and now, having extinguished itself, it left the world heavy and humid.

            Arra, the doctor’s apprentice, was waiting for him outside. She regarded him sidelong. “You’re pretty steady on your feet.”

            “Is that so?” He was still getting used to reading her, but that sounded surprised.

            “Yeah, for a guy where we couldn’t find his pulse.”

            Oh.

            _Oh._

            He let out a long, careful breath. “That’s funny.”

            Arra shrugged. “Ms. Gray figured you’d lost a lot more blood in the woods. Guess not, since you’re still kicking.” Then, casually enough, “What are you?”

            Standing straight was becoming a bit of a chore, so Shiro chose to lean against the wall next to her. “Considering you and your teacher treated me, you saw enough.”

            She looked unconvinced. “Yeah. But the other guy’s a blackblood too, and he’s got a heartbeat.”

            Shiro’s mouth dried out.

            “ _What_ ‘other guy’?”

            It had come out sharper than he meant- the girl regarded him like he’d suddenly grown fangs. He rested his forehead against the fingers of his prosthetic- breathe, carefully- he started the count, started again because the first time his side loudly protested and distracted him. “I’m sorry. Can you explain please?”

            A pause. Long enough he was unsure if she was actually going to continue talking to him. _Good job keeping it together, you’re a soldier of the kingdom and you need to_ act _like it_ \- but eventually she obliged. “Kid my age, with the hair. He came to see you.”

            He recalled. Pale face, dark mane of hair that grew wild around bony shoulders. So _that_ was why he’d acted so odd- looking for a kindred spirit, perhaps. “Does he live around here?”

            “Nah. Wandered in a couple of days ago, got in trouble with the guards. Some entertainers paid his bail and he’s working for them now.” Arra’s mouth shifted. “They’re the guys that found you at the edge of town. One of them patched you up pretty good.”

             He frowned. “I’d like to speak to them.”

            “Not gonna stop you if I say they’re on the other side of town, is it.”

            That actually enticed a laugh out of him. “Not going to lie, that’s a consideration.” Not much of one, though. He’d had worse. He’d pushed forwards through worse.

            An image of a black highway, stumbling, limping forwards, under the moonlight, rose in his thoughts.

            He shook it off.

* * *

 

            It was a bit of a blow to his pride to say he was out of breath by the time he got there.

            The camp looked as if they had two tents, one larger and one smaller, and towards the back, a good-sized wagon. The big tent was collapsed on itself, the supporting poles designed in such a way that with a precise twist, they slid into themselves, collapsing to smaller forms. A heavyset young man was working on those- his companion, the blackblood Shiro had seen before, was idling nearby, talking in an undertone. He looked up at Shiro’s approach, met his eyes briefly and then pointedly looked away, body language drawing tighter.

            It must have signaled the larger one, because he turned, a bundle of tentpoles slung across his shoulder as if they weighed nothing at all. “Oh, hey. You’re not dead.” He offered by way of greeting.

            Shiro smiled thinly. “Alive and well. And I’m told I have your troupe to thank for it.”

            “Yeah, I might’ve done something.” There was a casual certainty to those words, dark brown eyes brightening a bit later. “You know most people in this country don’t even _carry_ sealing salve? Like, seriously, you’ve got wolves and bears, and if you get hurt you just, what, tie it up in gauze and hope for the best?” He shook his head, fluttering the tails of the cloth band tied across his brow. “No offense.”

            Sealing salve. No wonder he’d remembered receiving far more cuts than he’d woken up with. That led him to evaluate the stranger with a bit more interest- that was rare, called for esoteric components and an alchemist of some talent to assemble. “None taken. The Order usually stocks it, but, I didn’t have the time to pack up camp.”

            “Because you were attacked?”

            The slightly raspy voice drew his attention- he hadn’t noticed the blackblood coming over, standing at a slight distance. Something about the other’s expression was almost accusatory in its concern.

            He nodded, in reply to the question at least. “Right. Which is exactly why I need to get back there. I need to see if anyone else made it out… salvage what I can.”

            The taller man tilted his head. “By ‘back there’ are you talking about the town that got burned down by something you still haven’t found yet, or the probably monster-infested woods between here and there?”

            Oh, well, putting it that way.

            He looked over at the blackblood- he couldn’t keep thinking of him that way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name, earlier.”

            “It’s Keith.”

            Shiro nodded. “Keith, then, and…”

            “Hunk.” His free hand lifted in a wave, then pointed to the tent poles. “I’m gonna put these away, and you’ve got like, five stitches in your guts, so you wanna go sit down in the food tent, we can talk once I’m done out here.”

            He would’ve objected, offered to help at least- but Hunk had a point, and he needed to save his strength.

            The smaller tent was pleasantly warm, a few simple wooden benches set out near a portable stove. A third man was seated nearby, feeding the fire with small scraps of wood. Until it shifted, Shiro had mistaken the large mass of fur pooled by his legs was a blanket. But now it peered up at him with vivid blue eyes, and that drew the attention of the person whose lap it had been warming with its head a moment later.

            “Oh, hey. Didn’t expect to see you up and at ‘em _that_ fast.” A lazy grin, an easy shrug. “But what can I say, Hunk’s a miracle worker. How you feeling?”

            “I’ve been better,” he eased onto the bench, looking at the cat with some surprise as it came over to sniff at him. It was rather surprising- rare to see such person-friendliness in a large predator- but easier to deal with until a heavy forepaw planted itself directly between his legs.

            “Hey- _Blue_!” An attempt was made to wrestle the cat off of him- one that didn’t succeed given the size of the beast and its interest in sniffing him. A great pink tongue slathered his forehead, and _then_ ‘Blue’ allowed its handler to remove it. “Sorry, she’s- _usually_ better behaved than this.” The man made a show of planting his hands on his hips, frowning at the cat. “C’mon, Blue, he’s hurt, don’t step on him.”

            “It’s all right. That’s an… unusual animal.” In the warm lighting, one could _almost_ make out darker striping in its dark fur. “Where exactly did you get it?”

            His answer was a bubble of nervous laughter, “Yeah, uh, y’know, funny story, long story- not actually funny, kind of boring, weird, uh-” he met Shiro’s eyes. Paused. “…So what happened out there? In the woods?”

            A fair question. The guards had asked, and he’d told them what he could, exhausted, and much as it frustrated him- the image of them- Kerin, Arth, Vesna- cornered somewhere, captured, bleeding out, while he _sat_ here burned in his stomach-

            Patience. There was a process for everything. He gathered his breath and released it.

            “What I’m about to tell you is official Order business. I’d ask that you be careful how, and where, you repeat it.”

            His tone seemed to catch the man by surprise- he settled down cautiously into a tailor’s seat where he stood, ‘Blue’ curling around him. “…Okay.”

            “What do you know about the galra?”

            “Kind of a superstition thing they’ve got up here, right? Like, uh… beast people that live in hollow hills and come out at night, they’ll steal your sheep- seems like people blame ‘em for everything.” He watched Shiro with wary eyes, bright eyes. “I didn’t think they were real.”

            “They are. A lot of the ancient ruins you’ll find around Arus were built by them thousands of years ago. But until very recently, we didn’t believe there were any left alive. You’re not wrong about people treating them like fairytales.”

            “…So what changed?”

            A grim line. “People started going missing near the border with their ancient lands. Some of us- …the Order didn’t believe it was that much to worry about, until the person they sent to look into it joined the missing. That was about a year ago. Then just a month ago, someone or _something_ started building a tower. At that point… the Queen couldn’t afford to overlook it. Someone had to find out what was going on.”

            “What was it?”

            He shook his head. “We never got there. The last place we were supposed to stop before the border was Charon. The whole town was burning. There were… a handful of bodies, but most of them were just gone. Like they’d been led away somewhere else. I sent off an emergency telegram to the castle, and we had to set camp to wait for a response.”

            That had been the wrong call. He should’ve set them towards Clocksburg immediately, waited to send Plachu until they were behind walls.

            “…They hit us in the night. Whatever they were, they were fast enough to keep up with our horses. Our lookouts were dragged off before we knew what was happening. I was,”

            _Spared._

            “Somehow, able to escape.”

            _Just like last time._

            “I don’t remember much of what happened… I’d lost a lot of blood.”

            _Again_.

            “Somehow, I must’ve made it here. But I need to go back. The rest of the party… there’s a chance they could be still alive. If nothing else, I need to meet the courier I sent to the castle. If I can reconnect with them, I’ll be able to send word about what’s happened.”

            Hunk cleared his throat. Shiro nearly jumped- he hadn’t realized they’d come in, but there they were, the big man, blackblood lingering slightly behind him, and someone else- a girl with wavy blonde hair covering most of her face and an aquiline nose. The latter was watching him curiously, but the former was watching the blue-eyed man hawkishly.

            “…So we’re going through monster-infested woods to look for a messenger in a fresh-made ghost town. Lance, I’m _really_ not feeling this new direction.”

            Shiro was about to say something, apologize, clarify- he didn’t mean to ask them to risk their lives- but it was the person identified as Lance who spoke up first. “Yeah, well, if they’re dangerous at night, we can head out in the morning, so that gives you enough time to get ready, doesn’t it?”

            Hunk heaved a put-upon sigh. “I’m just saying, this is gonna suck.”


	9. Two Strangers At The Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, with Shiro- wait.

            The sun wasn’t nearly low enough in the sky before he set out, gritting his teeth where it passed through the dappled shadows of the trees and drove into him. By all rights, the cloak should’ve held it back; by all rights his _skin_ should have held it back.

            But that was nothing, just an irritation in the back of his mind as he kept going, back up the trail he’d traversed the night before, undoing his own progress- progress that had been in the _wrong direction_ , had he known. He should have known.

            Something called between the trees- one crow to another, laughing in harsh voices- private jokes, or perhaps warnings, simply rendered jovial by the innate qualities of their voices.

            He kept going, as the sun set, slowly, shadows longer, the prickling feeling of it cutting straight through him sliding piece by piece off of his skin. The roads here were new, relatively speaking- two or three generations of travelers and vagrants, hewn only of dirt and dust beaten into wide, shallow grooves. They meandered, they angled, not with the purpose and grandeur of the old roads, and that was inconvenient, but there were consequences to the old roads, and he could not afford those either- so the new roads would suffice.

            “I was of the impression that getting to Leos was the most important thing to you.”

             One of the birds perched above him was not a crow. It was a little too small, white-bellied and long-tailed. Shiro halted in his stride, stared at it.

            “It is,” he told the bird.

            The magpie’s head tilted the other way. A moment later, it hopped from the tree, fanning its wings to break its fall.

            The body that landed was much larger, but alit as gently and lightly as one would have expected of the little bird. Curling wisps of pale hair fell around dark-clothed shoulders that rolled as the other man folded his arms. “Then one would wonder why you’re making a bright and early start in _the wrong direction_.”

            Evidently, Lotor wanted to talk, rather than merely haunt him.

            He took the left fork in the crossroad, not looking over his shoulder even at the absence of trailing footfalls. “Because now _he’s_ involved.”

            “Is that so surprising?” Lotor fluidly kept pace. It was a bit frustrating how _easy_ he made that look. “You’re well aware of his movements.”

            “Not _that_ aware.”

            “Aware enough,” Lotor persisted, pacing enough ahead of Shiro to turn backwards to face him. “And it isn’t as if we hadn’t considered him.”

            A heavier sigh escaped, and his progress ground to a halt in the shadow of a dead oak. He had the energy to talk, or fight the sun, or speak- not all three at once. “He found Keith. And one of _them_ is with him now.”

            “Are you certain?” A pause, Lotor catching the face Shiro made. “…Better question: if that _is_ the case, mightn’t you trust that your friend has the situation under control, and continue to move towards the star whose position is yet unchallenged?”

            Shiro made a frustrated, sharp gesture with his stone hand, black fingers flashing against the fading light, leaving streaks of long, dark shadows. “I didn’t tell him about _this_. He’ll think it’s _me_. He’s going to _trust_ him.”

            Lotor’s head inclined to one side, a contemplative gesture from his magpie shape mapped by familiarity onto a person’s body. “And you don’t.”

            “You know how he _is_. Everyone was counting on us, on me, and he just… _gave up_.”

            “So what, precisely, are you afraid of? Him endangering the star and your friend, or what your friend might think of you?”

            He shoved away from the bark of the tree and redoubled his pace, the armor clattering audibly with the sound. “I don’t have time for this.”

            A flutter of air brushed his cheek- and a familiar magpie settled onto one of his pauldrons, fluffing its feathers. “On the contrary, if you’re really determined to walk the entire way to Charon, we’re going to have a _lot_ of time on our hands.”

            “ _Charon_?”

            A beady eye studied him. “A conjecture. You _were_ heading rather sharply north.” When Shiro’s stare didn’t let up, Lotor shook himself, stretching his wings. “Where legends and historical records agree, the fivefold guardians aren’t known to be _discreet_. If we’re sure they’re returning now- which we are _reasonably_ sure- it’s fair to assume anything especially unusual, and a star asserting itself would be the same location.”

            That added up about where he thought it would. It wasn’t reassuring. “What happened at Charon?”

            “Difficult to say. By the time Acxa arrived, it was in ruin.”

            He caught himself walking faster. “Survivors?”

            “None that she could find.” Lotor’s beak dipped pensively. “Very few bodies, as well.”

            “So they were taken.”

            “That’s the likely conclusion.”

            The sun slipped below the horizon, but not quite quickly enough to explain the way the shadows lashed and writhed, grew claws and teeth and climbed the trunks of the trees before they blended together into the welcome coolness of night. Shiro walked faster, glad to be free of the light for now.

            “You realize that you’ll have to face him eventually.” A pause, another considering glint of the eye. “Quite possibly sooner than you’d expect, if this _is_ our course.”

            He huffed, stepping free of the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a village, nestled in farm fields- he could just make out the pinpricks of its lanterns. “I’m not scared of him.”

            Silence. He chanced a look at the bird on his shoulder, only to find Lotor preening his wing as if nothing had been said at all.

            He half-slid, half-stumbled down a shallow slope. Here a simple wooden fence separated the woodlands from the plowed field- idly, he rested his stone hand on it, walking alongside. “I don’t suppose you know a way to get us there faster.”

            Lotor tilted his head. “I suspect it would disagree with you.”

            “Try me.”

            A wing spread over his shoulder, the tip pointing towards where spotted woodland gave way to rolling grassy plains. “There’s one of the Deep Roads, not far east of here. If you’re willing to set foot on it, I’ll see what I can do.”

            He really should have expected that. The breath that escaped was more amused at his own expense than genuinely upset. “You and the Roads.”

            “They _are_ one of the largest remaining bastions of my peoples’ handiwork.”

            Shiro turned, letting his hand fall free of the fence. “Any chance they’re going to notice we’re using it?”

            “Unlikely. They’re as much aging relics to us as they are to you. The art of opening them was lost to history a long time ago.”

            “Except for you.”

            “I have certain advantages.”

            Not for the first time, he found himself regarding his companion, looking very unassuming and small indeed clad in black-and-white feathers. “You’re not a very ordinary galra.”

            “You’re not a very ordinary human.” Lotor’s talons flexed on his shoulder. “Does it sound like an option?”

            He set off towards the direction Lotor had indicated. “When you said it’d disagree with me, did you mean because of history, or because of what I _am_?”

            “History, for the most part. It _should_ accommodate your power without difficulty, if I’m the one opening it.” A considering pause. “I suppose it could be a bit unpleasant for the mortal parts of you, given your current condition, but…”

            “Nothing that’s going to stop me?”

            Magpies did not really shrug. Nonetheless, there was something candid about the way that Lotor’s shoulders bunched and relaxed. “I wouldn’t suggest it if it were _that_ precarious to you. Of course, if you would allow yourself the company of my associates, I’m sure we could be more _precise_ about your current condition.”

            “Sorry. Last time I had personal experience with galra and magic at the same time,” a loose breath, a shake of the head. “Didn’t end well.”

            “And I suppose you don’t trust me quite that much.” It was not an accusation.

            “I could say the same to you.” There weren’t barbs in his tone either- it was a fact, really, one that had governed these little meetings about as long as they’d been happening at all. There were simple understandings they had, a cautious cohabitation that boiled down to an infrastructure of lines they did not cross. The mutual agreement of people who found each other at crossroads, knowing and seeing more than they should really be able to.

            This wasn’t one of the cardinal roads that stretched unerringly straight over chasm and through mountain, but one of the curved ones, twisting in both directions like the coil of a great black snake across the land. Knowing it was coming, having even specifically sought it out at Lotor’s word, he still hesitated at the sight of it.

            Today, the sky was clear, clouds few and sparing. The full moon hung large and heavy in the sky, its rings faintly visible.

            Lotor lit abruptly from his shoulder, fluttering up to make a circle in the sky, scouting about for a moment. When he returned, Shiro extended his flesh-and-blood hand to catch him, little claws briefly digging into his skin for purchase. “It would seem we’re alone. That’s fortunate. Few may be deliberately observing the roads, but… let’s say that this is not a particularly _subtle_ means of travel.”

            A smile tugged at the corner of Shiro’s mouth. “Not like turning into a bird, huh.”

            It was surprising how much exasperation Lotor could fit into a wholly nonhuman face.

            The echoes of his footsteps on the road seemed hollow, _resonant_ in a way that he wasn’t sure if it were merely nerves, or the properties of the stone itself. He could never actually feel the seams between the pavers, even when his eye could pick them out in the moon’s light.

            He remembered bright eyes, earnest conversations that he’d only half-followed, talking about the stones- the tools that must have shaped them, the quality of the edges. When the world had felt open and full of potential, full of light.

            Now, silence; to the only two parties present, the road was an asset at best.

            Lotor fanned his wings, white feathers gleaming in a color that was a bit too pale, a bit too bright. And there, there was the all-too-familiar feeling of _power_ , of everything all at once- the road, the sky, the moon and stars, the forests and fields around them- rousing, stirring, as if from deep slumber.

            Light crept down from the moon. Something else crept up from the stones to match it. Where they touched, they split into strands of gossamer, wove and laced together.

            Something inside of Shiro surged and roared in answer. It lacked the force to breach his skin, nor did he permit it to do so, as the fibers of Lotor’s working explored the surface of his armor.

            The gate hung, shimmering, the loose threads at its edges drifting in the breeze like an oversized spiderweb. Its aperture was filled with mist, faintly cold as he approached. There was no particular catch, no sense of transition, just a gradual thickening of the fog, until it seemed to press down on him from all sides like a blanket.

            In a now-empty field, along an abandoned road, the gate unraveled itself, gossamer scattering in the wind before, strand by strand, it melted.

            With something that almost felt like a sigh, the Old Road returned to its slumber.


	10. Into Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ready, set...

            Hunk had left them on their own for breakfast, and for all of how Keith had only known the man’s cooking for two days, it was still upsetting in a way he didn’t particularly want to own up to.

            Shiro seemed perfectly polite about the whole thing, eager to help where he could despite his injuries, but confessed sheepishly he wasn’t much of a chef. Lance eventually filled the void and made everyone omelets, after having been solidly absent for an hour and then ambling out of the woods with Blue at his heels.

            As far as Hunk himself, he appeared to have sequestered himself to a corner of the camp, sometimes muttering, other times emitting more triumphant noises. Whatever he was doing, he’d hauled three bulky crates out of the cart as well as a dented bronze cauldron, which by the time Keith had woken up had been filled with a dizzyingly foul-smelling sludge that prevented him from investigating the matter any further.

            Pidge today sported the same short dark curls, dull blue overalls, and slightly crooked nose she’d had when he first met her. She’d produced a quarterstaff from somewhere deep in the wagon, sleek wood and polished brass caps on both ends. He got an odd feeling from it, but she never seemed to set it down for long- just carried it place to place. She’d dragged Shiro aside to talk to him, still holding the staff.

            It left him trailing in Lance’s orbit, helping pack up most of the rest of the camp, for lack of another way to not be alone. He had one of those bad feelings, nerves jangling around, when it could be anything- could be Shiro acting strangely, could be what they were going to do, could be a warning from ahead. Could be nothing at all, but it left him tense, restless.

            Lance must have picked up on it because after they’d finished packing up the mess tent- Hunk had emerged from chemical seclusion to haul the portable stove at Lance’s behest to come gather his “baby”, and gone right back to it without much more than a grunt- he turned to face Keith, staring him down in a way that wasn’t particularly confrontational as much as _knowing_.

            “So what’s the deal?”

            “ _What_?”

            “With you and Shiro. Same guy or not?”

            “Why are we still talking about this?”

            Lance rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “It sounds pretty important, considering we’re going to go monster hunting with him.”

            Keith let out a huff. “I know we can _trust_ him. I don’t know if he’s…” and it stumbled out of his mouth. “-You’ve seen how he looks at me. Like we don’t even know each other.”

            He hadn’t even heard Blue come up behind him until she wedged her head between his arm and body, leaning against him to regard him with those deep, patient eyes. When he seemed disinclined to move in, she simply walked past him, tilted at an angle to rub her whole body along his side.

            Lance, unperturbed by this, frowned, folding his arms. “So… you haven’t talked to him about it?”

            “If I did, he’ll think I’m weird. Or worse.”

            “…Or worse, you’ve been talking to his evil twin or something?”

            “Or he’ll think I’m conjuring _demons_ , Lance.”

            “You can’t do that.” A contemplative pause. “…Can you?”

            “wh- No!” Why did Lance feel the need to keep _asking_ him about it? “I _see_ things, and it’s not even that _good_. That’s _all_.”

            Lance and Blue shared a look. Keith did not want to know how, or why, or if it had been a coincidence. He stayed at the edge of the clearing, sitting on a stump.

            Shiro retrieved his horse- a gray dappled gelding named Quiet. It stayed well away from Blue, who had to be shooed away from it several times. He had repaired his arming coat, but the actual chain and plate over it still had a gap where he’d been injured before. Lance lent him a bit of cloth to pad the gap with.

            The armor was silvery and bright- it had the kingdom’s crest emblazoned on the left shoulder, a bird of some kind, wings spread and legs extended to form a golden Y-shape.

            It felt wrong, and he felt guilty for that- the Shiro he knew wore shabby, pitted black armor. This Shiro was happier, cleaner- worried, but agreeable, letting an awestruck Pidge stroke Quiet’s neck.

            He should’ve been happy for Shiro. A little closeness was a small price to pay for that much of an improvement, however it had happened.

            It just made him feel sick.

            Hunk had finished boiling whatever was in the cauldron- it had settled from sludge into a clear jelly that he ladled spoonfuls of into squares of cloth, tying each one off precisely. And then it was time to go- on a cue Keith didn’t recognize, they amassed at the wagon.

            “They waited for nightfall, before, but I’m not going to count on them staying to that.” Shiro’s mouth set in a firm line. “We should be ready for attack.”

            “No problem. We’ve got a formation for going through bandit passes. And we normally don’t have this much help.”

            “Right.” Pidge looked at Keith sharply. “How well can you handle a horse?”

            “Considering they all tend to hate me? Bad.”

            “You get the back, then. I’ll drive.” She headed to the front of the cart, where Hunk was already there- he boosted her up and then swung over himself, settling into the driver’s seat next to her.

            Keith looked to Lance. “Get the back? What does that mean?”

            “Most nasty stuff is not gonna want to tangle with Hunk, so they’re gonna come for the back of the wagon or the sides.” Lance patted the wooden gate. “Shiro’s got a horse, so, he and I can keep the sides covered and herd anything that comes after us, so you just need to put your sword to use on anybody who tries to board us.”

            He looked between Shiro’s gelding and the two heavy drafts pulling the cart, frowned at Lance. “How are you gonna keep up?”

            Lance patted Blue’s head with a knowing smile. She was wearing something Keith had taken at first for a sort of armor harness, but now he realized it had a wide depression in the back, and loose straps dangling from the sides- straps that Lance easily fit his legs into, tightening them before Blue rose to her feet.

            “…Oh.”

* * *

            He wasn’t used to travelling with company, or by cart really- sometimes he could pay someone to hitch a ride, but just as often he saved his meager gold for necessities. This was a much bigger wagon than he’d ever rode, suffice to say. Shiro kept Quiet at a brisk trot, looking out at the trees.

            Blue was nothing like a horse- predictably, of course, but the way her whole body moved, Keith had to wonder how Lance seemed so steady, and so comfortably in control. Now and then, he would lean in the straps, and Blue would bank over towards the back of the cart, or around towards Shiro, and up to the front, checking on people, talking to them- though less with Shiro, as the first time Blue drew broadside with him, his horse nearly spooked.

            They stopped by a spring, rested Blue and the horses, had a quick lunch (dry bread studded with raisins, topped with a slice of cheese) and moved on. Very little was spoken.

            This was old forest. Not like the thin growth around Clocksburg that he’d traveled through venturing in from the western coast- here moss-caked giants presided over a dense understory of ferns and fallen timbers. More than the mist- still persistent here where the sun couldn’t chase it away- the mere mass of the trunks cut visibility down. He pulled the scarf away from his face, took a heavy draught of the humid air.

            The thumping, rumbling cacophony of the cart felt so much like an intrusion, the writhing of a moth in a spiderweb, and the forest drank them in with eager ears. Was it quiet? Did the animals that lived here merely flee because they heard the cart coming? Or had something else chased them off long ago? A wolf howled in the distance, a long, eerie, carrying note, and Keith couldn’t decide if he preferred that to the silence.

            Shiro had drawn near the cart, looking up at the trees. “I recognize this.” He pointed to the side- faintly, there was a path of bent and broken branches. “Jumped that log right before the path. There should be a fork in the road up ahead…”

            The cart ground to a stop.

            Keith caught a glimpse of a rapidly-vanishing gray tail tip around the side of the cart, and the sound of voices. Almost an argument- without thinking, he jumped, grabbed the roof of the cart and pulled himself up, picking his way over the top of it towards Lance, Hunk, and Pidge. “What’s going on?”

            A moment, Pidge looking up at him, Hunk and Lance staring ahead. She pointed, shakily.

            There was a patch of something shiny in the undergrowth. A few of the fronds were painted with something dark and faintly drying.

            “…Shiro?” Lance offered, his voice thin. “We… found someone.”

            Shiro dismounted, ventured off the path. He knelt, pulled a knife from his belt, cut something free, and placed his hand somewhere amidst the tangle of red hair.

            “We need to keep moving,” was what he said, not looking at any of them, but climbing back onto his horse and spurring to a canter.

            Hunk gently drew the reins from Pidge’s shaking hands, snapped them once, and turned to follow, up the northern road.

            By the time Keith had made his way to the back of the cart, Lance was following again, but he wasn’t looking any of them in the eye.

            Another wolf howled. Still it was the only animal he’d heard since they left. No birds, no rustle of smaller creatures in the undergrowth.

            And on they went, towards Charon.


	11. Charon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Run.

            They knew they were getting closer by the smell.

            He could feel Blue stiffen under him, wrinkling her nose and drawing teeth back from gums before she redoubled her pace, moved towards the front of the cart, and when they got there, Lance could smell it too.

            It reminded him of when he was still a guppy in the islands- a galleon had run aground on the reef, and everyone had gone out to see the wreck- after the survivors had been evacuated, but before the salvage crews had gotten there. He remembered peering over his aunt’s head up at the great broken shape of it, dark against the sunset. Smoldering here and there- a dirty fire, wood and varnish, cloth and… flesh, too, tangled together in the smoke that rose from the wreck. It had troubled him, played it back and forth in his mind- the sunset, the smoke, the bodies in the water and the _smell_.

            It had been twelve years since then, but at the first waft that came from Charon he was there again, Blue’s fur under his fingers his aunt’s hair, shoulders and body that carried him closer.

            They all slowed without a single one of them signaling to the others. In the silence, there was a ring of steel, the light glinting off Shiro’s sword as he spurred his horse onward.  Hunk and Pidge followed slowly.

            Blue held back.

            Lance patted her neck; she turned her head slightly towards the contact, and then followed.

            He didn’t know this area for sure, had never been this far north, so he hadn’t seen Charon before, but with the burnt and collapsed remnants of the buildings protruding like so many bones, it wasn’t hard to imagine it in flesh. Surprising how quiet, how cavernous the space.

            As they approached the square, he decided he preferred the broken and burned houses to the ones that had been almost spared- dark and empty but still too _real_ , too much like someone would live there.

            They could have been here. Debated stopping in Charon instead of Clocksburg- had decided on the latter because it was larger, more a chance of an audience. But it had been a last-ditch decision, a narrow one- an “eh, if nothing else we can jaunt north and hit Charon as well.”

            Lance felt like he might be sick, just a little. It didn’t help when he saw a doll on the side of the street, as if someone had just forgotten it in the usual exuberance of child’s play.

            Shiro broke the silence. “No sign of the messenger.”

            “What are we looking for?” Keith had climbed onto the top of the cart again, now that they’d stopped.

            “It should look like a white bird with the kingdom’s crest on its leg.” He tapped his own arm-guard with a muffled clink.

            “No sign of anything else, either.” Hunk peered around. “If it’s just been sitting here for a day, you’d expect scavengers to move in. It’s just… empty.”

            “It doesn’t _feel_ empty.”

            “Keith, can you say something _not_ creepy?” Pidge twisted in her seat, glaring at him. “This is bad enough already, don’t make it worse.”

            “Keep it _down_ ,” There was a clear warning in Shiro’s tone, the certainty and command of a soldier of the crown- something Lance hadn’t expected, despite everything, for how approachable the man had been.

            They lapsed into uneasy silence. Hard to tell how good time they’d made- the sky was overcast now, even if it was bright.

            Something moved at the edge of one street.

            Blue’s ruff stood up slowly. She wrinkled her nose and growled.

            It moved again- just beyond the corner of a building, stepping out to move towards them. It looked… almost like a person. A little too long in the limbs, too heavy in the stride, joints protruding in a way not _quite_ like armor.

            Lance’s bow was in his hands immediately, arrow strung and the string pulled back. There were two of them now- each footfall matched between the two of them with perfect rhythm. Unnatural rhythm. He leveled his arrow at the closer one, at a crevice where its neck met its body. Fifty paces out. “Shiro? I don’t think these guys are friendly.”

            Hunk leaned to one side in the seat. “We’ve got more of them behind us!”

            “ _Shiro_?”

            The knight had frozen, his steed balking and tossing its head, but Shiro hardly seemed to notice it jostling him in the saddle.

            He looked back to the two advancing in front of him. Thirty paces out.

            “We’re surrounded!” Pidge’s voice, high and taut with fear.

            Twenty paces.

            Lance let go of the string.

            The thing dropped- fast and hard- the world erupted. Blue lunged for the second one just in time- all of them were running now, a droning staccato of pounding feet. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw- Shiro, sword biting into one with a metal-on-metal screech- a trio of them tackling the cart, trying to climb it. Keith, black blade in hand, making a quick motion with his thumb and the weapon convulsing under his fingers with indigo light, a shining thing he swung into the closest enemy which fell away from him, split open. A second sparked with green light- a hiss and then a popping sound. Hunk lit one of the cloth bundles he’d made before and lobbed it to an explosion that sprayed fragments of pavers.

            The one under Blue’s claws swung an arm free, knocked him hard from the saddle. Lance hit the stones, tumbled- the world swam, and there were more of them, pouring from the streets, clattering all to the same rhythm. A second blast and a third- Hunk swearing as he dove for the cart, pulled more from the chest he’d prepared.

            More green sparks- _Pidge_ , he realized- directing them from one body to another with sharp motions of the staff. Keith leapt from the cart, bringing his glowing sword down on one of the things and taking off faster. The cart took off, the horses bolting- Hunk pulling the reigns to no avail until it whirled around a corner, crashed down thunderously on its side.

            “Hunk! Pidge!”

            That was the wrong thing to do- even with Blue tearing into any that would come close, tooth and claw only did so much against the armor, and calling out drew their attention. No time to get a proper draw- he went for the knife in his boot and slashed hard, going for the joints as he had before. The blade bit into something, not flesh or blood, but it seemed to stop all the same.

            A cold hand seized the back of his shirt- with no time to thrash or resist he found himself hoisted onto Quiet’s back, Shiro bringing down his shield on the head of one of the things. “Keep shooting!”

            “Right!” Nock an arrow, let it fly- he managed to sink two of them with that one that had Keith cornered against a wall. He shot into the group advancing on the wagon- a moment later, a familiar explosive lobbed into their midst, flinging bodies in all directions. Fire and fire again- until his arms were sore, fingertips stinging from the bite of the cord.

            There were still too many- where were they _coming_ from? Bombs were going off almost repeatedly now- Hunk was running through explosives and fast. Lance fired into the crowd, grabbed at the quiver to reload, and his fingers hit air.

            _Shit_.

            Shiro was breathing hard, his shield arm clinging holding his wounded side. Keith had nearly disappeared under a wave of them- he hacked them back with quick strikes, stumbling in place. No sign of Pidge, still.

            These things didn’t seem to get _tired_. Most of them weren’t reinforcements, he realized- a lot of the ones downed simply climbed back up, cracked and clattering, spasming but still coming.

            The hairs on the back of Lance’s neck stood up.

            “Shiro-” His breath caught. “ _Shiro, get down!_ ”

            There was a _snap_ , and then a howl tore the square, louder than Hunk’s homemade explosives, and brighter- the lightning had come down in an instant but clung where it struck, writhing along a pelt of sky-colored stripes. Rain thundered down upon them.

            Blue roared again, flecks of electricity clinging to her teeth, the only spot of brilliance against the darkness of the storm.

            The creatures scattered, like insects whose haven had been disrupted by the light, in all directions- those that hadn’t been crushed, broken, or melted by the force of the lightning.

            The rain poured, slowed, stopped.

            They breathed the silence, the taste of raw energy in the air. Hunk came over from the fallen cart, carrying Pidge, picking his way across the landscape of shattered metal men. Keith’s sword had burnt itself out- it was dark and still once again.

            Blue shook herself, once- scattering the last of the sparks from her coat along with the water.

            Then, softly,

            “Lance. Come here, my child.”


	12. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, that just happened.

            “You talk,” Keith said breathlessly.

            “Yes.”

            “How do you talk. Did you-” He twisted to look at Lance, was surprised to see the other turn away from him. Incredulity and hurt twined together. “You _knew_ about this.”

            “Don’t begrudge him what was my choice to make.” Blue ventured closer, watching him with those knowing eyes. “And I would ask that you postpone your questions until we’ve time to recover. All of us have had… a trying experience.”

            It was true- Shiro was low in the saddle, wary but exhausted (and how much he looked like the Shiro that Keith knew, with those shadows under his eyes). Pidge was slumped in Hunk’s grip, clutching her staff with every scrap of energy she had left.

            “We can’t just stay here.” Shiro’s eyes passed over the team, dismounting from Quiet. “We had no idea those things were here until they attacked us. If we try to set up camp, we’re sitting bait.”

            “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re kinda sitting bait either way.” Hunk jerked a thumb. “Della and Day ran for the hills, and even if they didn’t go that far, we’ve got a wheel in eight pieces and a broken axle.” He eyed Blue. “So unless you’ve got, like… magic cart-fixing horse-summoning stuff in there along with the lightning-”

            Blue huffed. “I am the god of a few things, but wagons aren’t among them.”

            “So, you’re a god.” Shiro’s tone was surprisingly terse.

            It was with distinct amusement the cat turned to him. “Considering what I’ve proven capable of, I’m not likely to be a walrus.”

            Lance’s hands shot up in the air. “Okay, _I’ve_ got stuff to own up to, but Blue’s right. Let’s not do this in the middle of a ghost town surrounded by dead,” he prodded one of the metal cadavers with his foot, “ _whatevers_ that are either gonna come back to life on us or their buddies will decide they’re not scared of Blue and come back?”

            Shiro seemed to shake himself. “Right. We need to get moving.” To Hunk, “How fast do you think you can fix the cart?”

            “By myself? I mean. We’ve got a spare wheel. The axle’s more of a problem since that we _don’t_ usually carry spares.”

            “ _Maybe_.” Pidge shifted, propping herself up. She had a nasty black eye blooming on one side. “Maybe I can do something. It’s wood, right? It’d need some time to cure before we could actually use it, but a curing axle is better than no axle, right?”

            “See if you can’t get started on that.” Shiro mustered himself. “I’ve got Quiet, I can chase down the horses.”

            “You’re injured.” There was an unexpected caress in Blue’s tone. “And you’ve just fought quite a battle. Even hollow men have their limits.”

            Keith looked to Shiro- only to be frustratingly treated _again_ to the sight of someone closing off.

            “I can manage this,” Shiro insisted.

            A pause, while Blue regarded him, her eyes gleaming. “If you stray alone, that puts you and the others in danger should the creatures return. There is strength in unity, is there not?”

            Lance was watching Blue. “What are you going to do?”

            “I will find the horses. Those two are long used to me by now. It shouldn’t be difficult. And if I am caught alone…” She parted her jaws. A single, fat spark leapt between her teeth. “I should be able to handle myself.”

            He wasn’t sure he wanted to argue with that, whether or not she was apparently a god. Evidently, the feeling was shared by most of the group. Lance took a few steps towards her.

            “No, love. I want you here with them.”

            “What if you get hurt?” There was something thin and vulnerable in Lance’s voice.

            Blue pressed her head against his, letting out a warm breath that rustled his clothes. “I’ll be careful.” A cat’s face couldn’t really be said to smile, but the way her eyes crinkled upwards was distinctive. “Besides. I think your friends will want some answers sooner rather than later.”

            Hunk waved the hand that was supporting Pidge’s back. “Uh, yeah, scary god lion has a point, I _definitely_ want some answers.”

            It was a very guilty look that Lance shot Hunk, before turning back to Blue. “Just… be really careful, okay?”

            The cat chuffed. “I will be.”

            She was gone shortly, a disappearing streak of gray in the light cast by the parting clouds.

            Lance walked over to the cart, pulling a face as he looked at it. “Jeez. This is worse than that time we hit Groggor’s Pass in the winter.”

            Hunk opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned deeply, before making his way over to the cart as well.

            Keith hung back, unsure about following. It was a bit vindicating to see Shiro seemed to feel the same way, eyeing Keith eventually with a rueful smile.

            “She called you ‘hollow’. What does that mean?”

            Shiro grimaced. “It’s… a long story.”

            Keith motioned at the cart. Pidge was sitting down- Lance and Hunk seemed to be trying to tip it back onto its three remaining wheels, while arguing- raised voices trailed across the space, but nothing clear. “We’re not going anywhere that fast.”

            Shiro scrubbed his face with a hand. “…No, you’re right. I’d prefer to only say it _once_ , though, and at this point, I think I owe _all_ of you an explanation.” He paused, gray eyes cast over Keith- and the sword Keith was still holding. “…What about you? That’s… not a weapon an ordinary traveler carries.”

            Keith scoffed, thinly. “I think everybody knows I’m not ordinary.”

            A shrug, the muffled clinks of Shiro’s armor as he dismounted from Quiet. “Take it from another Blackblood then, you’re slightly stranger than usual.”

            “Shiro…” Gods, this was weird. Having the conversation like Shiro didn’t know- well, that was the other Shiro, he guessed, not that they’d really talked about it, the other Shiro just seemed to _know_. “We’re not… the same. Not that way, at least. I’m not like you.” He reluctantly tilted his head towards the cart. “Not like them, either.”

            Shiro regarded him, not with wariness, but concern. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath. “Can you explain?”

            “…It’s a long story.”

~~

            By the time Blue returned, the cart had been tipped, and Hunk had unfastened the axle, leaving it resting on its side with the broken head. Pidge was seated, holding the snapped pieces together. She seemed deep in thought, not moving from where she sat, sinuous fibers of green light passing from her fingertips into the axle. Shiro was leaning against the upright wagon- he’d insisted on trying to keep guard, but it was all too obvious that he was nearly dozing, sweat gluing his single spray of bangs to his forehead.

            Blue made an unexpectedly comical sight- a self-satisfied cat with two horse’s reins gathered in her mouth. Lance sprang to his feet, running over to coo over the horses and stroke their noses. “Hey, Pidge! We found the horses!”

            Silence from the seated figure. Keith looked over- she’d been like that for a while now, still as a statue. Lance ventured over, waving his hand in front of her face. “Pidge…?”

            She swatted his hand hard, sending droplets of green light splattering into the cobblestones. “Lance, I’m trying to convince a piece of dead wood it’s still a tree, that’s hard enough without _distractions_.”

            Hunk had pulled a slightly-dented iron pot out of the cart and gathered enough bits of the metal soldiers to form a fire pit, which he was intermittently feeding pieces of the broken wheel while he sat with one of the more intact ones sprawled across his lap, poking it with a set of small silver tools. “Yeah, the part I don’t get is why you didn’t do this that time we lost a wheel getting stuck in the worst mud ever and I spent like eight hours in the rain trying to get us out of that!”

            “It’s a secret for a reason, Hunk,” Pidge offered, sounding like she hadn’t entirely heard him.

            Hunk shrugged. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not as mad at you as I am at the _literal rain god_ that stayed nice and dry inside the wagon the whole time.”

            Blue had sprawled on her belly by the fire, head resting on her paws. “Weather exists because the sky is full of life, not because I will it to be so. It’s easier to tug the tides to break a little higher than it is to hold them back.” Her eyes opened for a moment. “Besides, most people who want me to do something about the weather make offerings.”

            “Do you have any idea how much I feed you?”

            Shiro stirred, sat up a little more and took in the surroundings. “The horses aren’t hurt?”

            Lance had been going over the side of one of them- Keith had no idea if that was Della or Day. “Should be fine. Looks like those guys left them alone. Just scared them, is all.” He patted the horse, looking over at Quiet. “Quiet’s really calm.”

            “He’s a good companion. I’ve had him for about a year now.”

            But Keith had seen the other Shiro- who definitely didn’t have a horse- less than a month ago.

            Shiro looked to Pidge. “Not to be another distraction, but how close do you think you are? At least, I want to get out of town by sundown.”

            There were patches in the clouds now, enough to show blue sky overhead. Pidge looked up at them, frowning. “But where do we go after that? Back to Clocksburg? That takes us through the woods again. We need somewhere to hide.”

            Shiro frowned, deep in thought for a moment.

            It was Hunk that spoke up. “…Isn’t this a mining town?” He pointed. “Clocksburg’s got an awful lot of metal for a backwater town. And Charon’s backed right up against that cliff. We can find a shaft big enough to fit the cart in, we can probably hide out in there.”

            “…It is.” Shiro sounded distinctly impressed. “It’s not a major source of iron, but it’s an old mine, and from what I hear, pretty stable.” At the team turning curious eyes on him, he shifted ruefully. “I like to try and read up on where we’re going. Gives us more of an idea of what to expect.”

            Pidge shifted the axle. It looked as if it had grown back together- _grown_ , specifically, parts of it protruding tiny sprigs and leaves. She plucked one off. “It’ll take a while to remember it’s dead, but I _think_ that works. I don’t know that much about carts.”

            Hunk set down his tools to take it from her, hefted it experimentally. “That’s… yeah. It’ll hold all right.” He pointed at the metal soldier. “Nobody touch that, I’m coming back for it.” Then, with a deep breath, he crouched, hefted the axle and ventured towards the cart with it.

            Lance elbowed Pidge. “So when were you gonna tell us you’re magical, huh?”

            She didn’t seem to appreciate his tone, crossing her arms. “Like I said, it’s supposed to be a _secret_. And it’s…”

            “Let me guess, a long story.”

            Lance and Pidge blinked, staring at Keith. A moment later, an unexpected bark of laughter- Shiro, obviously regretting what it had done to his wound but humor not _entirely_ diminished.

            “I think we all have some long stories to tell.”


	13. Long Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for some explanations.

            Keith had never been in a mine before in his life.

            It was… oddly quiet. The shafts themselves were straight, crossed with sturdy old timbers and capped with metal fastenings, but here and there they broke into natural caverns. Such was the one they’d ultimately hidden in, a grand, domed cave that stretched far overhead. Somewhere, fresh air was blowing in, and the floor sloped to a small pond, occupied by fat gray fish. Blue lunged into the water, caught one, and returned to shake off all over everyone else before she settled nearby to gnaw it. Here and there his ear could pick out the dripping of water.

            It was cool inside, but not unpleasantly so, with the small fire they’d assembled- evidently Lance, Hunk, and Pidge carried spare tinder with them. Another pleasantry of travelling by cart that he hadn’t considered.

             They set up camp in relative silence- Hunk unrolled canvas from the cart and ordered Pidge onto it to treat her injuries. When she was permitted to get up, a poultice tied over her black eye, Lance was called over to replace her.

            Blue swallowed what remained of her fish with a snap and ventured over once Lance had been released from Hunk’s ministrations, curling up around him comfortably. Almost possessively.

            Expectant eyes congregated on the two of them. Here, when she had so blatantly shed the guise of a tamed animal, the firelight played across her stripes, reflected in her eyes.

            “…So,” Pidge broke the silence, picking at the edge of the poultice. “You’re… Aquaria, right?”

            Keith blinked. “Isn’t she Blue?”

            “I mean she’s a god.” Green eyes settled pointedly on the beast. “And the _blue_ , obviously, keeps company with travelers, made a storm happen…” A triumphant pause. “Am I wrong?”

            The god lifted her head. “Clever child.”

            Shiro, thankfully, seemed to catch Keith’s expression. “Aquaria’s one of the gods in the Heavenly Cross. Weather, travelling, and the sea, mostly… she’s called a lot of things. The Southern Star-”

            _Star_.

            “Keith said something about stars.” Hunk looked over at Keith. “So, I guess they’re gods, then? And one of them is in Leos?”

            Blue hummed softly. “They… would still be there.”

            “There’s a god in Leos?” Shiro was looking at him, pointedly.

            That…

            That was too much.

            “Shiro… you’re the one that told me about the stars.” He tried not to plead, hated the way his voice shook. “Don’t you remember that? We met before, you saved my life!”

            There was fear in Shiro’s eyes. He looked away, after a moment, staring down at the fire. “…I haven’t been completely honest with you all,” he said at length, straightening up to gaze at each of them in turn. “I didn’t think I had to, but at this point, we’re all risking our lives here.”

            “Yeah, well… you’re not the only one.” Lance leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, staring at Pidge. “Seeing as we’ve got a secret _wizard_ here.”

            She bristled like an affronted cat. “Oh yeah? Well you’ve had me doing circus shows for five months with a secret _god_. What next? Is Hunk actually a Balmeran?”  
            Hunk raised his hands. “Whoa, okay, everybody else here’s got freaky secrets, I have a totally normal, uneventful life. Aunt wanted me to be a sailor, grandpa was thinking shipwright, kinda wanted to open an inn, best friend got a- _now that I think about it super suspicious_ \- case of wanderlust and wanted to go to the mainland so I figured it’d be a great time to figure out what I wanna do with my life. So now I’m here, in a cave, surrounded by monsters.” He made a broad gesture, palm-up, at his surroundings.

            “You know _alchemy_ ,” Pidge pointed out.

            “Yeah, ‘cause my _mom_ taught me. Besides, like everybody and their cousin Flora has a secret family recipe for something-or-other. You pick it up!”

            “Even how to make _bombs_?”

            “Sure, got rained in at a mining town in the western redpeaks, we helped out, they taught me their recipe for blasting gel.” A smirk crossed Hunk’s features. “I just made it better.”

            “After you set your eyebrows on fire.”

            “That was _one_ time Lance!”

            “ _All of you._ ” Shiro lowered his hand, taking a steadying breath. “We don’t have time to squabble. We _all_ need to get on the same page if we’re going to get out of this. I know,” a meaningful look around the fire, “we’re all keeping secrets for a reason. But it’s important. I’ll go first.”

            With careful fingers, he removed his cuirass and set it aside, unlacing the gambeson underneath. That, he left open, before rolling his shirt up.

            Exposed on his chest was the leering visage of a horned skull, in raised, angry red marks. There were many scars on his torso- some bites, some claws, but that one stood out, glaring in its deliberation, in its malice.

            Shiro let the image sink in for a moment before, with untroubled features, pulling his shirt back down. “As I told you before, Arus’s northern border was considered completely safe. When rumors arose, a respected royal scholar set out to investigate. He had a vested interest in the northern lands- wanted to study the galra ruins, see if anything could be found out there.”

            Pidge squirmed in place, looked away from Shiro to poke at a stick that had fallen away from the fire.

            “He took his apprentice- actually his own son, with him, and, in event they encountered whatever was responsible for the missing people… a knight.” A grim smile crossed Shiro’s features. “That was me.”

            “Wait.” Hunk’s expression turned wary. “You said this guy disappeared, right? Nobody knew what happened to him.”

            “The whole expedition did. No contact.” Shiro’s eyes fell closed. “I’m the only one that made it back. I can’t tell you what happened down there, or why. I don’t even know how I was able to escape, or what happened to me.”

            “It’s quite a burden you carry.” Blue had lifted her head. “The heart in your chest does not beat any longer, and yet, regardless, you live. It’s a troubling thing that clings to your blood, and I can’t imagine you’ve had a restful path away from it.”

            Somberness followed this proclamation.

            After a moment, Hunk spoke. “…So what does this mean about that guy Keith met? The one that looks like you?”

            “I’ve seen him.” Shiro’s voice lowered. “I don’t know what that is. …Until now,” and he eyed Keith, “I’ve never known him to help people. For the longest time I thought I was the only one who could see him… like he was haunting me.” With greater resolve, “He’s dangerous.”

            “He’s my _friend_.” It bubbled out of Keith before he could stop himself and everyone turned to him, some surprised, some confused. He wanted to hide.

            “You said he saved you, right?” Lance ventured, looking cautiously to Shiro. “He can’t be all bad if he did that, right?”

            Shiro took a steadying breath. “What… happened exactly?”

            He didn’t want this. But his mouth had dug him into it, and- Shiro, not really the Shiro he knew after all, the real (?) one, the stranger?- Shiro had gone first. The scar. Forgetting. That had hurt to bring up.

            “I’m not _like_ you guys, okay? People with black blood are supposed to be cursed. Well I’m not _cursed_. I got _born_ like this.”

            “That’s… that doesn’t _happen_.” Pidge said with certainty. “The whole reason it’s black is because of the addition of dark magic- it sticks to your blood, so unless it’s constantly in your system all the time, like a curse…” Her eyes widened. “Your body would have to be _making_ it.”

            Blue climbed to her feet from Lance’s side and ventured towards him. For a moment, Keith flinched- but all she did was sniff at him, his arms and then his face before exhaling, content, fluttering his bangs. “I understood that when we met. Your story and the knight’s are different ones. What runs in your veins is at peace with itself.”

            “…Great. I’m not.”

            “So, what, do you just… get it from your parents? Like- your dad or your grandpa or something got cursed and that passed on to you?”

            “That’s not how that works _either_ , Hunk. Most curses don’t pass generations unless they’re designed that way, and that wouldn’t make it work. Unless…” Pidge cupped a hand to her face thoughtfully.

            “I don’t _know_ how it works! Dad didn’t tell me, and he’s _dead_ , and he’s the only one who knew about it!”

            Once again, everyone was staring at him. He was really starting to hate this. “He died a long time ago. I… didn’t know where else to go, so I kept travelling. Like maybe I could just… find something. Eventually I got on the wrong side of some bandits I couldn’t fight off. That’s… when I met Sh-” A pause, looking over at present company. “…The other Shiro. He showed up out of nowhere, scared them off… I was hurt pretty bad. If he hadn’t kept bringing me food I would’ve starved before I could walk again.”

            And, because it seemed right to do, he pulled up his pant leg, showed the scar crossing up from his ankle, into the meat of his calf.

            “Since then, he’s showed up a few times. I only see him at night, and sometimes he’s hurt.”

            “…What about the sword?” Pidge nodded at it, where it hung from his hip. “You did something with that while we were fighting.”

            “Oh. Yeah.” That was an easier topic- he drew it, rested it point first against the cave floor, pressed his thumb against the sharpened point on the weapon’s pommel to draw a single bead of blue-black blood.

            It trickled down towards the grip, tracing a line of glowing blue light until all at once, it melted into the stone… and the vein of light shot down the length of the sword, blazing to life with ghostly flames, brighter than the campfire.

            “Dad gave it to me before… I’ve had it for a long time.” He pulled the tip from the stone, held it up. “It just does this. I’m not really sure how it works.”

            Shiro held out a hand- Keith passed it to him, surprised to see the flames gutter and die, leaving only the glowing veins. As soon as it was handed back, however, it burned again. “This is blood magic.”

            Pidge sat forwards to stare. “Are you sure?”

            “Is that why he had to poke himself for it? Do you have to do that all the time? Don’t your thumbs get sore after a while?” Hunk looked over at Pidge. “What’s the big deal with blood magic?”

            “It’s kind of a taboo.” Pidge was facing Shiro, but she addressed to the whole group. “Besides that, almost nobody actually knows how to use it. Powering something like Keith did isn’t hard, assuming your blood has the right magical content to make it work, but there’s stories of practitioners who’d kill hundreds of people to power a single spell. It’s not just blood… it’s basically manipulating life itself. Of course-” she was quick to add, watching Keith, “like anything else, it’s just a tool. It depends on how you use it. After all you could use power like that to heal people, too, for example.”

            “Okay, so Keith’s got a blood sword, Shiro got kidnapped by ghosts, and Hunk told everybody about his aunt, great.” Lance leaned to one side, cheekbone propped on the heel of his palm. “What about you, chatterbox? ‘Cause when we picked you up in Alvorith all you said was you needed to head north.”

            That, surprisingly, Pidge seemed less inclined to answer, lowering her eyes to stare into the fire.

            Then, “I know the scholar that went missing with Shiro.”

            She looked up. “He’s my father.”

            “Wait, what?” Hunk groaned. “Lance, have we picked up _any_ normal people since Jenny?”

            Lance had put his hand to his chin. “I dunno, Hunk, I gotta appreciate the irony of having an actual princess play a princess.”

            “I’m not a princess, my mom’s a duchess. I’m a lady at best, and _honorable_ if someone’s trying to butter up my parents.” She looked between Hunk and Lance. “I’m kinda surprised you guys didn’t notice anything. I don’t exactly have a lot of cheap stuff.”

            Lance shrugged. “I figured you were a runaway tailor’s apprentice.”

            “Thief on the run from robbing the wrong person,” Hunk chimed in.

            “A merchant’s daughter looking for adventure,” Blue offered. When the rest of the assembled parties looked at her, she managed a feliform shrug. “I don’t know everything beneath the heavens. Magic is easy to discern. Aristocratic background, not so much, unless she had come to us smelling of perfumes with the crinoline of a ball gown tucked in her satchel.”

            Shiro tilted his head, a bit guiltily. “Pidge mentioned her father and brother before we left for Charon. I told her everything I remembered, which is… again, not much.” Thinly suppressed frustration threaded through his words.

            “I _know_ they’re alive,” Pidge said, vehemently. “And I have to get to this tower. Lance, Hunk… you guys have helped me a lot, but, after this, we part ways.”

            “Who says we’re letting you go?”

            She turned harsher eyes on him than Keith would have ever expected to radiate from anything smaller than a predatory animal. “You can’t stop me.”

            Lance met her stare for stare, untroubled. “I’m not. I’m saying… you don’t have to do this alone.”

            “Okay, listen.” Hunk raised his hands. “I love Pidge. We all love Pidge. But am I the only one forgetting we’re a couple of circus performers, some guy with a blood sword, and _one_ royal knight, who- no offense Shiro, you fought these guys before and didn’t win! We’ve got- what, a god pretending to be a tiger? Which is great, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t be the only one that noticed we got our butts kicked in Charon, right? Which tells me our divine intervention here has some limits.” He slumped, deep brown eyes looking not certain as much as very, very worried. “I don’t see the part where this ends with us winning.”

            “Then perhaps,” Blue stepped forwards, taking her position behind Lance once again, but remaining standing, her eyes gleaming like stars in the gloom of the cave, “it’s time we told _our_ long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important note going forwards: We Hallowed Few features, as this chapter's certainly made clear, blood magic as an AU answer to canon's quintessence manipulation and the capabilities of some of the characters. This means that the work may contain sensitive content- ritual bloodletting similar to what Keith demonstrated with the pommel of his sword and more intense examples of such, as well as a certain degree of body horror.
> 
> Most of it will be very minor, as makes sense given the setting (a fighter using a sword like Keith's does not want to open large wounds in themselves for fear of bleeding out in combat) but as this is an element of the story, I wanted to contain it here in a special footnote while it is covered under "graphic depictions of violence". After all, Haggar's in here somewhere and we all know she doesn't play nicely with others.


	14. What Blue Remembers

            Sunset became dusk, dusk became nightfall.

            One by one, they made their way to unsteady sleep, rocked by the hand of exhaustion, soothed by the peace of the caves.

            Hunk slept soundly, as he always did. Pidge, usually a lighter sleeper, dozed fitfully at first, shuffling and turning a few times before she seemed to find the right position to settle in, and then quieted.

            Of the new ones, Keith slept tightly wadded, curled so close to the fire that he might have singed his fine, dark hairs. Shiro nodded, propped against the cart, where he’d insisted on keeping watch. He startled, gasped for air like a drowning creature breaching the surface when she approached, but by the time he’d turned to face her, his face was composed.

            “You should rest as well.” She told him, not unkindly.

            With a bit of a soft sigh, he rubbed his eyes with his flesh-and-blood hand. “Not doing a good job keeping my eyes open, am I.” He looked up at her, a bit ruefully. “What about you? Don’t you need your sleep?”

            Beside the fire, Keith’s spirit flickered. His breath hitched with the transition to wakefulness, but he made a show of not moving. Feigning sleep.

            A chuff bubbled in her chest. “Napping is merely a luxury. I’ll suffer no ill from passing it by.”

            Circus life- this playing of a mortal beast- had treated her well. Dozing in sunshine, ample rations, resting in the chamber at the back of the wagon as the miles passed. This was not the first troubling time she’d encountered nor would it be the death of her. Funny, really, to hear a mortal, a hollow man no less, raise the question when there he was, shadows under his eyes, spirit stirring low in his belly where he tried to force alertness, decorum unto it.

            A divine edict to rest would bode ill with both of them, she suspected, and so eased to the ground herself, resting jaw on crossed paws. “Something gnaws at your mind.”

            Shiro looked to the fire, soft and low in its pit. “…Thinking over what you said. It’s a lot to process.”

            “It’s a history mortal minds have long forgotten. Though that is our fault, more than yours. We, who were its witnesses, its survivors…”

            A moment where it seemed as if he might say one of two things, though he was divided on them. Dismissing both, Shiro shook his head. “…I’ll have to go back into Charon tomorrow to look for the messenger.”

            A clever mind. A quick and restless thing; vigilant as a hare in the field.

            He caught her gaze, construed something else of it. “Is something the matter?”

            “Water flows deep in these mines.” She flexed her claws against the stone, tilted her head back and closed her eyes to take it in. “A lake somewhere above. Fed by a mountain spring. She weeps through the cracks in the stone, and in her endurance, has formed these caverns over thousands of years. They bear the echo of her caress. I don’t think anything could venture into these mines without disturbing those rivulets.”

            Shiro looked summarily impressed. “You can feel all of that?”

            “But of course.” Her tail made a languid pass. “There is holiness to the ground and the movements of the earth. Mortals often think of us as the sole bastions of light in a fundamentally dark world, but that is not so. We are mirrors, clarifiers of the sacred nature inherent of things.”

            She suspected it did not sink in fully, but it did not really need to; he was tired, after all, and now set at ease, he stifled a yawn, moved slowly, cautiously to set his cape out. “I’ll trust you on that, then.” Some remaining bastion of resolve flexed its walls behind his eyes. “Wake me if anything moves.”

            He was asleep before he could press her for an agreement. Sometime later, in the silence, Keith’s soul pooled again, safe and content.

            She walked the shadows at the fringes of the fire, and listened to the singing of the water through the stones. The lake was a sweet young thing; she’d never been kissed by the deep thrall of the ancient winters, only the momentary freezes brought by the turning of the seasons. Sprightly in her flow, her waters brushed against Blue’s unknowingly, ruminated on the embrace of the depth and age, the cold below, salt and sweet water and the cradle that had once held the world.

            Perhaps the lake would live another thousand years. Perhaps she’d see to the next deep cold, flirt in her playful way with the glaciers that proceeded stately across the landscape. Perhaps something would crack her basin and send her sweeping into the valley, to the sea. Perhaps she would become grand, or wither away. It couldn’t be known. And the lake was young, and untried. Whatever shape she took, she would be happy in it, Blue expected. This lake was one for a bit of adventure.

            _He_ had always been one for a bit of adventure. Though he had been no lake, a quick-surging rapid, indomitable in temperament. Stormy as the grand northern lakes in autumn, but oh the way he sparkled in the light.

            A good man. A kind man, Blaytz had been.

            She might not have minded knowing the permanence of death, if it had been by his side. She knew that she hadn’t feared it, as long as they were together.

            She remembered, as she always did, the way he’d looked in his armor that day, brilliant in the sun as he always had. The way they’d pressed their heads together, whispered words, when the plans had run dry; soft farewells, little trinkets of fondness that could never carry quite enough.

            She remembered the island she had found for him, practically a grotto, the palms bent over themselves so their fronds kissed the water at high tide. Remembered pulling her tired body from the water, dragging her burden with her, up onto the sand.

            She remembered curling over his body, shielding from the rain and wind. Her head resting on his chest, mindless of the damp, the gentle rise and fall of the two of them drifting off, together.

            It had been a pleasant dream, to sleep besides him. A small fantasy, that when she woke, he would be there, and he would laugh, the soft, easy way that he always did.

            Lance sighed in his sleep, and she drew from her thoughts, to his side. He had taken off his shoes for bed. Faint in the shadow, but unmistakable there on his sole; a circle, encompassing wavy lines in the facsimile of a visage.

            Gently, she touched his dreams.

            Tonight, they were of oceans. Warm turquoise seas that splashed against a child’s legs, laughing, chasing after the colorful fish that flitted in the reefs, plucking fragments of shells and sea-glass. His mother on the seashore, calling him back to the house for lunchtime; his aunt in the shallows, watching carefully, her scales glinting as a barrier to not stray too far.

            She remembered.

            She remembered him, the way she had met him, wet and shivering as he pulled himself from the storm, under the eaves of a crumbling shrine. The temple they had built on Blaytz’s island, long after the stones piled over the body had crumbled away into the sea, after he, too, had become sand.

            A statue was a poor thing to seek solace against for a child so used to loving arms, but that was all the altar had offered him. All that had been left of her, as the years trailed on, over Blaytz’s final ground, the memory of his bones and an empty stone floor the only thing beneath her claws.

            Lance had fallen asleep there, settled into comfort as best as he could, his head resting on her side.

            He had not been afraid to awaken beside a living creature. The light in his eyes had lingered in her heart in all of the years since that day.

            With a muffled grunt, he rolled over on his back, gills fluttering lightly as he exhaled. Eyes opening, he looked up at her, still serene from drowsiness. “Whatcha thinking about?”

            “Old worries. You know me.”

            “Those metal guys weren’t that-” he stifled a large yawn, “-that scary.” He stirred his thoughts with languid motions, before looking at her, eyes slightly less foggy than before. “You really think everything’s gonna end up like this ancient war?”

            “No, love. Not everything.” A burden lightens in her chest. “Much is different. I fear an old enemy’s return. One that is… not so easily thwarted as to perish to a prop sword and fall off of a tower.”

            Lance attempted to school himself into a look of mock concern. “Does this mean you’re not gonna do the show any more?”

            She chuffed, leaning in to lick his cheek once and settled down by his side. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll have much to deal with in the morning.”

            He grunted, softly; shifted to curl against her side. She was sure, nearly sure that he was asleep again before he muttered into her fur. “It’s nice that you’re trusting people. I didn’t like being a secret.”

            She curled around him more soundly, settled in place until he was properly asleep, and his dreaming mind once again lapped at the shores of hers. Those waves she left to him, wandering instead to a quieter frame of mind, a place where trailings of thought floated like torn silken threads at the edge of a canyon.

            She wondered where they had fallen. If they dreamed. If those of them that had been as fortunate as she had still guarded their paladins’ remains, or if, instead, they had said their farewells, moved forwards.

            She hoped they were well.

            Softly, as not to stir Lance from his rest, “I know they would love you.”

* * *

            By the time night has fallen and the lesser corps were beginning to rise, the artificer was already awake, perched in the lower bows of a tree, prodding restlessly at the silver device balanced on his knees. “Sir.” He offered tersely at the disturbance of a larger animal’s approach, not lifting his eyes.

            “Permission to speak.”

            “The druz’a sustained considerable damage from the confrontation. Those the closest to the attack do not have salvageable memories. Others are,” he pruned the printout from his device with a precise motion of clawed fingertips. “-inconclusive. They appear, lacking a better term, confused about what they witnessed.”

            Something about the report amused him enough to solicit a chuff. Unlike his artificer to stoop to the imprecise. He turned his eyes to the assembled druz’a, their blank faces pointed in perfect rows towards artificer and device.

            At length, the artificer raised his head, filmy eyes peering owlishly even in the weakened light of surface evening. “Whether or not I place a request for additional druz’a to replenish those lost, the remainder of the hunting patrols were not able to locate their quarry, despite the large vehicle the highlanders were travelling with. It may prove difficult if they find the excavation. We will lose valuable time.”

            How _like_ him, to draw that conclusion. “You have failed to consider the grander picture.”

            “Of course. Excuse my failing, sir.” He could feel the artificer’s eyes boring into the back of his head- silently demanding an explanation that propriety and rank would not permit him to question aloud.

            It was a good feeling. He allowed them to dangle that moment in anticipation, approaching a druz whose faceplate had shattered completely, betraying the whirling gears within its depths.

            “What could carve such damage into our craftsmanship? Not the highlanders and their pathetic steel. Not the knights of their child krul. Since our arrival, the lands above have hardly born us a single challenge. And yet, now, the druz’a are driven back with devastating force the likes of which they cannot describe.”

            He turned his one good eye upon the young artificer. “Draw in the rest of the patrols and return to the camp. We need not hunt them yet; they will come to us. We will return to the lands below as gods among men.”


	15. Lesser Beasts

            As he had promised Blue, he ventured out of the mines in the morning.

            He did not go alone. Ordinarily, he might have viewed this as a refusal to stay put, but there was really no discussion to it- he had stood to go, and Keith had clambered to his feet to follow.

            They had passed through the mines in silence, mutually pretending neither was as skittish as they felt as they ventured into the town itself. Every shadow felt like something new to jump at, a warning, every shuffle or sound he had to stop and listen to see if that thump was just an unfastened shutter in the wind or something more consistent, too predictable to be natural.

            Until yesterday, he hadn’t recalled that he’d seen those things before, and now, just from the half-useless fragments of nightmares that he could call to mind, he had decided, completely and unequivocally, he hated them.

            “…So…” Keith ventured into the silence at last. “What does this messenger look like? How are they gonna get all the way here from Leos in just a couple of days?”

            “It’s not a normal animal.” Shiro shaded his eyes with a hand, looked up against the sky. “Frankly, it’s kind of an honor to have anything to do with them. Mostly, they’re the Queen’s personal attendants.”

            “And they run messages?”

            “They do whatever she needs them to.” Nothing. No sign of those metal monsters, either. “They’re called Pale Servants. There’s… not a lot we actually know about them. No one really knows how they were made.” Remembering Keith’s earlier question, he elaborated. “Look for something with red eyes and a silver body. It should be a bird, if it’s traveled this far.”

            A question formed on Keith’s lips- surprisingly, he pulled it back and swallowed it before Shiro even had a chance to hear it. Instead, “So it changes form, huh.”

            He had to wonder what exactly Keith had seen. What he’d been through, as someone allegedly born cursed. Mentally, Shiro debated to himself how to word that in his report; solicit the crown’s assistance without drawing unfriendly eyes down upon him. Maybe better to- if Keith could be persuaded- simply take him to Leos personally and explain in the flesh. More control over the response that way- but communicating by letter, he could gauge the response from afar.

            That Keith needed help, he was sure of. They all did- Sir Holt’s daughter, the travelling performer chosen by a god. Perhaps less so the alchemist but- well, it wasn’t so often you met a person with that kind of experience. He had a good feeling about them- they were good people, not merely because they’d helped him fight off the automatons.

            Speaking of which… he slowed as they approached the square.

            “…It’s empty.” Keith bent to pick up something- a small silver gear that flickered and gleamed in the early light. “There’s pieces left, but the bodies are just…”

            “I know.” It came out sharper than he meant it to- but they had to keep their voices down. He moved to the shadow of a building, nearly towing Keith with him- straining to catch anything.

            Charon creaked and sighed in the wind around them- breathed as empty places did.

            Seconds became minutes. Nothing.

            They’d had precious little warning before. He could wait.

            Minutes stretched. Keith shifted restlessly in place behind him, a cloth-on-cloth shuffle that seemed deafening in the silence.

            Then-

            A piercing call, an unmistakable blot of white against the blue sky. Coming from the south- it banked, circled the square. This high up, it was difficult to make out the telltale glint of gold on its leg, but a pure white hawk was hard to mistake.

            “There it is!” Keith scooted ahead of him, out into the center of the square, waving. Another call as it saw them, fanning its wings and beginning a descent towards them. That was Plachu, unmistakably- Shiro stepped forwards himself.

            There was a faint whistle- and then a meaty _smack_ , and the bird dropped from the sky, a fist-sized stone falling beside it.

            Keith dove to catch the limp bundle of feathers, taking him further into the open square- closer to…

            “Predictable creatures. As soon as the sun’s risen, you crawl from your burrows as if you own the world.”

            The man who stood over Keith was so massive, Shiro himself might have only come to his waist, and clad in outlandish blood red armor. The pauldrons twisted upward and outward like horns, but that didn’t captivate the eye as much as the hooked talons that grew smoothly from the fingertips of his right hand- from the shaggy, twilight-colored _mane_ that spilled over the collar of his armor. Batlike ears, torn and notched in places but sweeping up a full half-foot past the bony crest of the head- a single golden eye, set into a cold and sneering visage. The right half of his face was covered- bound with dangling layers of expensive cloth, a gold pendant looped loosely around the head so that its violet gemstone dangled just over where the other eye would have laid.

            And his left arm- there, the armor was nonexistent past the pauldron, the flesh bulging and twisting. From the elbow, a wicked dark _spike_ , amidst a cluster of smaller horns; the rest of the arm hung downwards in something whose knuckles nearly scraped the floor, a gnarled, scaled thing whose fingertips ended in swordlike points.

            The galra- for it could only have been a galra- stepped forwards. Had Keith not picked that exact moment to scoot backward, a clawed foot would have descended right on top of his own. “But what have we here? Mere vermin,” it was impossible to tell where in that sea of yellow the pupil and iris resided, but Shiro _felt_ the stranger’s gaze on him nonetheless, met it with a glare even though he felt like someone had put steel bands around his lungs, “and a servant of the usurper. _You_ didn’t cause such damage to my patrols.” It was difficult to assume his nose could have crinkled further, but it did, taking a long, slow draw of air. “No, it was the _old_ power that scattered the druz’a. Where is it?”

            Shiro’s sword was in his hand before he’d particularly thought about it. “You know,” he offered dryly. “That’s royal business, and I don’t normally share information with people who attack messengers.”

            This, evidently, amused the galra, enough for him to produce a baritone rumble in his chest. “Of course. I had forgotten the temerity of lesser beasts.”

            The claw surged forwards suddenly- Plachu’s body dropped to the ground, both of Keith’s hands grasping futilely at the fingers curled around his neck. Lifting him, as if he had no more substance than a cloth doll.

            Shiro lunged- brought his sword hard into the meat of the galra’s forearm.

            It struck the unyielding flesh hard enough to leave Shiro’s arm ringing- and broke.

            He had just enough time to process the sight before the galra’s other hand connected hard with his jaw, knocking him backwards off of his feet. His teeth clicked together, hard- but he didn’t lose his grip on the sword.

            Dispassionately, the galra leveled his lone eye back to Keith. “I’ll not repeat myself. Give me the star’s position, and I will spare you as my thrall.”

            _Get up_. Shiro’s head was spinning. _Get up, get up, move, keep going_ \- one foot under, then another- stagger, shift between them until he found his balance once again-

            Keith, hanging like a fish from a hook, making a grab for his sword that proved ineffective as the man holding him simply _constricted_ , a faint, choked gasp escaping as the sword fell from his fingers. Something was spreading up from the constriction like a bruise, tendrils of dark blue creeping under his skin.

            The pieces of the sword glittered on the ground in front of him, highlighting the way like a path.

            A pause from the galra, flexing the elbow to draw Keith closer. A free hand gripped the youth’s hair, yanked it back to lift the head.

            The blue of Keith’s eyes was nearly lost in a field of gold, pupils tightened to catlike slits as they fluttered rapidly, side to side- looking towards Shiro, at his captor, at the surroundings.

            “So the ancient blood crept above the plates after _all_.” Evidently entertained once again, the galra flashed what perhaps was attempting to be a smile, but was really more an exhibition of teeth. “I should have smelled you coming, mongrel, but you’ve some impressive ability to hide.”

            The largest shard of the blade was just out of reach.

            Keith picked up a leg and swung ineffectively at the galra’s armored torso- he merely extended his arm again, causing the strike to miss, still baring that fearsome grin.

            A grin that turned into a snarl a moment later- a howl of pain that nearly deafened.

            Pity.

            Shiro had aimed for the neck. He hadn’t _entirely_ caught his quarry off-guard; the man had turned, and the broken point had lodged under the pauldron, in the meat of the shoulder.

            So he wasn’t so unbreakable after _all_. It was a moment of grim satisfaction- short-lived as a second later the great claw had flung Keith aside and swung heavily at him, flinging him off the galra’s back and tumbling across the ground. Again the world swam- he clamped down on the feeling, bracing himself on his forearms.

            A shadow overhead- the galra, claw about to come down on his head like an executioner’s axe.

            _Move._

            Shiro rolled to the side, to his feet- the blade was still stuck in the galra’s shoulder. More shards on the ground, the hilt in particular had a good jagged edge to it- Keith. On the ground, sprawled, recognizable for the worn clothes and mass of dark hair if relatively little else.

            Don’t focus on that now, don’t get distracted- in the time he lost staring the galra had closed on him again, he made a dive for the hilt- the claw closed on his waist, he felt it grip tightly against his armor, trying to suffocate him as it had Keith.

            The world spun violently- his head struck an unyielding surface.

            Darkness.

            Thick and cloying, it pressed down on him like a cape, a blanket, a shroud. Then, a feeling of something cold, sharp but not cruel, small points pressing onto his chest woke him, as if from sleep.

            There was a pale moon, somewhere over his head, full and bright and beautiful. It swam in and out of his vision.

            No, not a moon- he squinted, focused. A face- not _quite_ a human’s face, large dark eyes. A broad, rounded visage, at the end of a great, long, neck- feathered or furred or perhaps both, it was difficult to tell. The claws resting on his chest were surprisingly dainty for the beast that boasted them, but those gleaming silver talons could have opened his throat with a single careless movement.

            They sat, man and beast, and for a moment, the world was very still. (World? Were they in a world? Somewhere in the hazy annals of a half-remembered nightmare, the darkness and the weight and the silence, each more oppressive an absence than any presence would be)

            “Shiro,” the creature said.

            “Shiro?”

            And it was someone else speaking- a face that wasn’t pale, a place that wasn’t darkness, and he could feel- sweat and clinging hair and the _screaming_ ache in his side, obstinate it wouldn’t be ignored now, and Pidge was tearing across the square towards Hunk, who was already hefting a slight, pale figure, a child in palace finery. Lance was beside him just as quickly, speaking rapidly- questions, concerns, things Shiro didn’t hear as he sat up and took in their surroundings, what was there, and what was _not_.

            “…Where’s Keith?”


	16. Breaker's Gorge

            He dreamed of being eight years old again, of the fever he’d caught that had left him so shaky he could barely leave his bed, the cooling touch of his father’s hand wiping his bangs away, coaxing him to prop himself far up enough to eat, and drink. The healer that had come on the third day, and the reassurance that she was _safe_ , even if he was too miserable to hold himself together in a proper image, and he’d refused to let down that messy patchwork of a glamour without holding his father’s hand for security.

            In his mind, it was as if he had never left, still bundled tightly, piled high with comforters until he wasn’t even shaking from the cold, listening to a warm voice roll over him with stories and songs and little, gentle words.

            _You’re being very brave. It’s okay to be scared. This is a scary thing that’s happening. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. It’ll be-_

            “-waking up.”

            His chest was on fire.

            He flung himself upright, wheezing, coughing- someone steadied him. Gradually the pain abated to a mere throb, gradually he caught his breath.

            A face appeared in his vision- long-featured, with heavy-lidded eyes, brows tented with concern. “All right there kid?”

            “Define _all right_.” The headache set in shortly after his chest had settled down, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyelids did relatively little to ease it.

            The stranger chuckled. “Well, he’s got a sense of humor, that’s a promising sign.”

            “Promising he’s not gonna rip our guts out, I guess.” This other voice was much sharper, and came from a woman sitting at the edge of the cave, arms crossed atop her bent knees. “So that just leaves the freaks _outside_.”

            Keith had been about to say something back to that when he caught sight of his own hand- clawed and indigo complected. On impulse he willed it out of sight.

            Something hot prickled around his neck, and then… nothing. No glamour, no… _nothing_. The stranger cracked him a rueful grin, and tapped something around his own neck- some kind of metal collar, held closed at the back with a violet crystal bolt. “Not sure what you’re trying, but unless you just want to give yourself a headache, that doesn’t work. They’ve got dampers clapped on everybody here that’s a magic user.”

            Sure enough- Keith brought a hand to his neck and brushed steel. The implications were disquieting. What this meant these two complete strangers could _see_ of him was disquieting. Even if the gloom wasn’t as bad for his eyes- he remembered what the woman had said about _freaks_. He folded inwards, before another thought hit him. “What do you mean _everybody_?”

            “The _townspeople_?” It was the woman who said this, regarding him sharply with bright purple eyes. “You know, the ones that you’ve been _kidnapping_?”

            The man looked up, mildly amused. “Nyma, cut him some slack. This kid _look_ like a raider to you?”

            “He looks like a _galra_. What am I supposed to think?”

            “That the big guy with the claw running this show wants him damped and in here with _us_ , not out there in armor with the rest of his guys?” The man jerked a thumb at the opening past Nyma- an opening that had been fitted with a lattice of metal bars.

            The woman- Nyma, evidently- simply let out a huff, turning to stare back at the aperture. Her compatriot shrugged to Keith. “Don’t mind her. People get a little cranky when their beauty sleep is interrupted by getting dragged through the woods by kidnapping armies of fairytale monsters.”

            It clicked. What the woman had said about townspeople. That guy that had attacked them at Charon.

            He looked closer at the man and woman- the clothes they were wearing. Similar black-and-white checkered gambesons- the gold thread patch on their shoulders. “You were with Shiro.”

            That got both of their attention in a second- they exchanged looks between the two of them, passing something Keith couldn’t understand before the man spoke up. “Uh, how do _you_ know Shiro?”

            “He-” …Maybe he shouldn’t talk about the whole ‘I’ve been talking to his ghost twin’ while he looked like this. “He made it to Clocksburg. He said he was part of a group that was attacked. We came with him to look for a messenger, and there was a god, and…” he shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

            “What were you doing in Clocksburg?”

            “Got arrested,” at the further prompting look, he squirmed in place. “…For stealing a kebab.”

            Another look exchanged between the two knights. The man at least looked amused; the woman faintly put-out. At length, she shrugged. “Okay, great. We’re three cozy cellmates now. Just you, me, and pipsqueak-”

            “ _Keith_ ,”

            “-Keith, stuck in a cave in Breaker’s Gorge while a bunch of galra that are a lot bigger and nastier are forcing people to dig up a temple.”

            He climbed to his feet, coming over to the cave’s mouth to squint in the light. It was sunset outside- how long had he been out? How far from Charon were they?- but he could see a narrow stone pathway beyond the cave, and then a sheer drop to the canyon floor below. To one side, that drop was gouged even further, moving bodies scattered over it like ants from the distance.

            Approaching footsteps. The female knight’s arm snaked across his chest, towing him back from the cage. Her other hand balled into a fist near her hip.

            Two of the metal soldiers from yesterday- and between them, another galra. In contrast to the man with the claw, this one was smaller- still head-and-shoulders taller than Keith himself, but with narrow, sharp features, expression more disinterested than hostile. He wore layers of black clothing with relatively minimal armor, greaves protecting the tops of his feet but no shoes. That, at least, Keith could understand- it was nearly impossible to find shoes roomy enough to fit the raised, hooked claws of his own toes even if he could’ve afforded them- but it was still bizarre to see this on a _stranger_.

            Much less one like him, and, yet, so very _not_.

            “Aside, _razkrul_. I’m here for the half-breed.”

            The female knight shifted her stance slightly, but didn’t move. Nor did the expression of the man outside the cell- he flicked his fingers, the faintest gleam of violet light tracing from them. One of the metal soldiers stepped forwards, manipulating the lock and pulling the door open.

            There was a mace hanging from the other galra’s belt- its weighty head set with wicked-looking hooks. Both of the knights were unarmed.

            Keith ducked around the knight, checking his stride once he approached the door. “I’m coming.”

            The metal soldier stopped mid-stride, lifting its head to stare at him with the single, glowing eye in the slot on its face. It looked less as if it had paused and more as if it were simply frozen, but a moment later it backed up, methodically retaking the exact step it had advanced, and stood back, permitting him to walk past it. It was a moment of awkward movement that was obviously _not_ continued when it closed and locked the door once again, pulled his arms behind his back.

            He felt something tingle and grow hot, nearly burning before it subsided to low heat, prickling around his wrists before the heel of the other galra’s palm connected hard with his upper back, shoving him forwards.

            They made their way down into the gorge.

            It had been difficult to judge scale from the look he’d had from the cave, but here, with the canyon walls soaring high over his head and the floor still faintly blue in the distance he could appreciate how _big_ it was- the size of that bridge casting its shadow over the valley below. What had looked like just vague moving bodies arranged itself into a massive mining camp- shouts and the crumbling of stone, people hauling carts or swinging tools under the watchful eye of the metal men and more galra. They were all larger than Keith, most of them holding crossbows.

            The one leading Keith turned sharply away from the main camp, leading him to a small rise with a series of tents. They approached one in particular, nearly the size of a one-story house, its base enforced with wooden framework.

            It was dark inside, but not dark enough to mistake the seated figure, especially not with that claw draped almost casually over the arm of the low chair.

            A hand gripped his hair from behind suddenly, yanking him painfully downwards. “ _Voz e gorto ator vozak kravan,_ ” the dark-clothed galra hissed in his ear, the unfamiliar words tinged with obvious vehemence.

            Well, good. Keith didn’t exactly want to be there _either_ , so that made two of them. And it was more _his_ problem than Keith’s.

            A thoughtful rumble emanated from the enthroned galra. “ _Avek raz yoru azaali ald galr, o uriz._ ” Whatever this conveyed, the dark-clothed one sat up sharply, looking at Keith for a moment. Untroubled, the seated galra continued- this time in Asterian. “It’s clear you understand very little.”

            “I understand when I’m being kidnapped.” He tried to pull his arms free of… whatever the dark-clothed man had done. It stung sharply, but didn’t yield. He settled for glaring upwards, taking some small bitter vindication from noting that one of the larger man’s pauldrons was missing, his shoulder bandaged from where Shiro had stabbed into him. “What do you even _want_?”

            Teeth flashed in the darkness. A faint rustle and creak, as the seated man rose to his feet. “I am Sendak Alaaraz, lord of fourteen houses, scion of the bloodline of Yurak Dazenlir. I act in the stead of the Dragon Eternal, true sovereign of heaven and earth. You are a ragged half-breed cowering behind illusions. You question my ambitions? Who are _you_ , to make such a challenge?”

            He wanted to have an answer. To spit back that it didn’t matter, the hell kind of question was that- you didn’t need a _pedigree_ to question people.

            He hated having nothing to say. Nothing he’d _want_ to say. Not to this _Sendak_.

            A look of cloying amusement crept across Sendak’s features. “Well then. I expect we’ll soon _see_.” He looked to his subordinate. “ _Gorov avek ator zeraz._ ”

            Distantly, but not distantly enough- somewhere in the canyon, something _howled_.


	17. The Ascent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the trail after Sendak, Lance makes an important decision.

            They made a pretty grim progression, all things considered.

            Shiro, towards the center of the group, hunkered down in something that was either pain or resolve, but likely a mix of the two. Hunk, directly behind him, helping steady him on Blue’s back while she climbed gingerly, afraid to jostle.

            Lance hadn’t been privy to the _entire_ exchange between Shiro and Hunk, just the part that had escalated to near-shouting before both of them seemed to come around, but the words ‘ripped stitches’ and ‘head wound’ came through loud and clear. Now, they weren’t looking each other in the eye, but they were working towards the same goal.

            Pidge led the way, a pendant Lance hadn’t taken that much note of before wrapped thrice around her hand to dangle from her pointer finger. It swayed back and forth, a smooth-edged triangle of black stone. She’d explained it- something about a scrying stone and soul energy, but about the point she’d gotten into “resonant fields” and the magnetic core of the planet she’d decisively lost him. That was fine- the important things were, as far as he understood, the veins of green light swimming across its core and the way it kept tugging forwards against its cord, pointing further into the canyons.

            Unlike the rainforest they’d passed through to get to Charon, the cliffs beyond the village’s northern border were a sparse moonscape in red and brown. Trees were little more than especially resilient scrub brush. The air was thin, dry, and cold- a surefire combination to make his gills ache, but he wrapped a warm, wet cloth around them and a thicker-than-usual scarf.

            This was higher altitude than he’d probably ever been in his life. It would’ve been nice, if he weren’t quite so worried.

            Someone tugged on his hand. Lance looked down- the messenger that Shiro had gone to find peered back at him. “What’s up, little guy?”

            The kid frowned, those lamplike red eyes being half-lidded before they pointed over to Shiro. Something prodded at Lance’s mind-

            _Bloody bandages, strewn across the floor. Somewhere that looked like an infirmary- soaring white balustrades and stonework more like a castle. Long dark hair sprawled across the pillow, chest covered with nothing but bandages, that couldn’t hide how sunken and skeletal his entire physique was, the musculature carved out of a body with nothing to give. Curled on his side, the blankets twisted- hard to make out his face, because that had been wrapped too, on the bridge of his nose blood was soaking through the cut. Breathing heavily, eyes squeezed closed._

            It took Lance a moment to place the figure in the image as _Shiro_. So this messenger kid- what had Shiro called him, Plachu?- had seen him before. And was some kind of freaky telepath but kid could already turn into a bird or something, so…

            Plachu was watching him expectantly, with a bit of a frown.

            “Kay I don’t know what you want from me.”

            “If he’s sending,” Shiro’s voice was tired, “he’s trying to talk to you. What did he show you?”

            “Uh, looked like you with long hair in some kind of hospital.” He glanced at Plachu, who had turned to stare at Shiro.

            The knight shifted slightly in place, flexing a tired smile. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

            The kid slipped out of Lance’s hand, trotting obstinately over to Blue, who stopped, and patted his hand stubbornly on Shiro’s leg.

            Shiro winced. “I know, it looks bad. But we need to look for Keith.” Pause, his expression shifting. “What about you? How are you holding up?”

            Plachu squirmed. Hunk had put a plaster over the wound on his head- oddly enough it bled gray-blue ichor, but everything about him except the eyes had a bluish sheen.

            Shiro ruffled his hair gently. “We’ll make it.”

            “Guys?” Pidge’s voice floated from up ahead. “You… might wanna see this.”

            The path ahead turned and widened into a proper road, and in the distance stood a massive bridge, stretching across a chasm.

            There was also _something_ standing on the bridge.

            Lance would have been hard-pressed to clarify besides ‘something’. It was very large, wearing dark purple armor and standing upright. One arm ended short, in a kind of coiled stump.

            In a swift, silent shuffle half of the assembled party wouldn’t have believed themselves capable of, they regrouped behind a nearby dead tree.

            “What’s _that_?” Hunk hissed. “Is _that_ a galra? Oh man why did nobody tell me they’re huge and terrifying?”

            “It isn’t, though… I’m not entirely certain what it _is_.” Blue’s head lowered in thought. “Its spirit appears to be distorted someh-”

            In a feat that would have made those more fond of their hands and more afraid of lions quake where they stood, Hunk had simply pressed a shushing finger directly against Blue’s mouth. “Okay, great, does anybody have input that’s not elaborate magical words for _we’re screwed_? Useful input? Like ‘oh, I know what that is, it’s deathly allergic to water’ or ‘it actually loves puppies and is harmless’?”

            Shiro, Lance noticed, had turned an ashy color, the way his flesh-and-blood hand was shaking on Blue’s back suggesting it wasn’t merely on account of injury.

            “Hunk- chill. _Everybody_ chill. It’s a freaky monster. We can _deal_ with that. Shiro’s dealt with this kind of thing before, right?”

            “If we’re talking about the galra attack, Shiro _lost_. And he had Keith with him, and Keith’s got a magic sword.” Pidge frowned, gathering her necklace in her hand and extinguishing it before threading it back around her neck. “And Keith’s definitely down in that canyon.”

            “Lance is right.” Shiro seemed to have returned to himself- there was something bright and sharp in his eyes, dismounting from Blue. “I’ve seen that thing before. He’s strong, but he’s not invincible. That means there _is_ a way past him- we just need to all work together, and come up with a plan.”

            Hunk shot him a look. “Yeah, and I hate to naysay the voice of hope here, but isn’t everybody working together gonna be a problem when two of us are heavily injured? Shiro, you can barely stand up right now, and out of all of us, you’re the only one with actual _training_. My point is… we’re stuck. If I had three days and twice the nitric acid I burned getting _this_ far we might have something but we don’t have _either_.”

            “There is something.”

            Heads turned. Blue was watching Lance intently, a curious mix of emotions in her eyes that Lance wasn’t sure he could make sense of. For a moment, they simply stood like that, Blue not clarifying her statement.

            Finally, though, she turned, making a small motion with her head. “Follow me.”

            It was a short hike, which was for the best given how much Shiro had to lean on Lance and Hunk, and without a path, they made it over bumpy ground. But promptly, they came upon Blue’s destination- a tiny, clear spring, glittering in the evening light.

            Blue reached the shore, and then stopped, settling slowly onto her haunches. Her gaze was directed over the lake, not at any of them.

            “…Blue?”

            “I know of a way we could rescue the boy.”

            That was good news. It should have been good news.

            Nothing about the way Blue said that made it sound like good news.

            “I am limited in the power I’m currently able to use. We of the Heavenly Cross, from the day we were hewn in mortal flesh, accepted that our power would never be whole in isolation. While the others of my pride confer my strength… there are those who are of a spirit similar to my own- kindred of soul, if you will.”

            Lance nodded. “I remember you told me about this. That’s why that thing showed up on my foot, back when we met.” He hadn’t thought about it in a long time.

            “Correct. But the connection we share is barely a whisper of a true compact. Were I to give you my true power, the both of us would become far stronger.”

            Pidge brightened with recognition. “Right. In ancient times, there were a group of knights, each chosen by one member of the Cross to act as their champion.” Under the eyes of the group she paused, fidgeting slightly. “I mean. That’s what the legends said, at least. There’s not much of an actual historical record that far back, especially since that’s older than the collapse of the Moura dynasty…”

            “I’m guessing there’s a catch.” Shiro spoke up, seated on a nearby stump.

            “There is. As little as I can tell about this stranger that attacked the two of you… I’m almost certain it’s my brethren and I he’s hunting. Whatever he intends to use our power for, it’s clear he has no intent of taking it rightfully.”

            “So we stop him. How is that a problem?” He didn’t say it candidly- there was something here, some edge of deep sadness to Blue he couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on.

            “Lance, were you to become my paladin, that connection could not again be broken.” She met his eyes, expression softening. “As a god, I’ve no reason to fear death myself. Mortal restraint and cruelty can do little to me. But you are mortal. If there are forces in the world that seek to steal my power, it’s you they would target. We would remain entwined, regardless of either of our wills, until the end of your life.”

            Silence fell among the group. Around Shiro, it contained a certain intentness. “Does it have to be Lance that goes through this?”

            “In this age, he is the only one who’s manifested my seal. I’m sorry. You are people of great virtue, but virtue alone does not determine the bond.”

            So, soul bond with Blue forever, get powers, save Keith. It wasn’t necessarily that straightforward, of course- maybe they could come up with another way around, maybe they could make do with what they had. Maybe he went ahead and did it and it wasn’t enough.

            “I always wanted to go on a magical adventure.”

            An intense emotion, somewhere between pride and grief, sparkled in Blue’s eyes.

            She led the way to the edge of the lake, and then, simply, out over its surface, her footfalls making small ripples. He slipped out of his sandals at the shore and waded in to follow until they stood in the center, himself up to his waist, her seated in front of him.

            There was a point where she blurred in front of his eyes, just as easily as a disrupted image in the surface of a lake, and he saw her- the real Blue, the god, not the thing that pretended to be a lion in a travelling show.

            All four feet ended in webbed, scaly claws, and the stripes that shot through her fur, normally so dark as to be unseen, were silvery-white. A fin like a sail extended from her back, just behind the seat of her harness- it joined to a long, reptilian tail. And there, just between her eyes, the stripes on her face joined together to form the five points of a pale star.

            He reached forwards. It seemed the right thing to do. She bowed her head, and they pressed together, forehead to forehead, bridge to bridge.

            A cold feeling in the sole of his foot that attenuated to spreading warmth, blue light seeping into the water. He didn’t realize until it climbed to his hands that it was coming from _him_ \- patterns and shapes covering every inch of his skin, lines of light in waves and circles, glyphs and patterns. They covered Blue, too- laced in between her glowing stripes, pouring from her eyes.

            Blue.

            The light climbed to his gills and he breathed sea-salt air, the smell and taste he could never forget, the beach he’d been born on, family all gathered around him, the sound of the wind in the trees and the white peaks of the waves. It climbed to his mouth and the lake floor gave way beneath his feet and he slid, downwards, letting out the air his lungs were still holding with a welcome sigh, and felt that sea, the sea of his home, _his_ ocean; the sea that lurked softly in the curvature of his heart.

            _Blood is just seawater, really_ , and he could hear his mother’s voice, soft and soothing like she was telling him a story about knights and heroes and legends. _All of us, man and mer, we came from the sea originally. Some of us climbed onto the rocks, and learned to breathe air, and some of us stayed home with our mother, but it doesn’t matter how long it’s been. We’re all still pieces of the sea, and the blood is the proof. Wherever you go, no matter how far away from home you are, listen to your heartbeat, and you’ll feel me, all of us._

_At the end of it all, mother will always bring us home. We all come back to the sea._

            The light filled his eyes, and he saw, a tiny point of light in the water. Like a firefly, it hovered between his open hands.

            “The first life.” Blue spoke, and her voice was around him, inside of him, resonant through the water. “It was my gift, and my duty, given by Oriande. When the seas were empty, and only I and my brethren had been born, it, and from it many others, came into my waters. To become their cradle, to carry them forwards, to nurture the beloved and fragile,  was my greatest purpose, as the third-born of my line, and from that duty flows all else.”

            He lifted his head, and caught her eye, one luminous thing to another; in that moment, in the sea, not as supplicant and god, but halves of a whole, equal in measure, equal in construction. The first life drifted between them, aimlessly, lacking the limbs to control its own propulsion.

            “I understand.”

            And the world was flooded in the color blue.


	18. Converge

            Keith had decided he was really starting to hate these ‘druz’a’ things.

            They’d hauled him from one end of the camp to the other, and were now closing on some kind of fenced-in structure at the edge of the canyon. The unflinching pace they walked at was matched by their operator, the dark-clothed galra, and Keith, between the three of them, staggered and stumbled, unable to find the rhythm and repeatedly shoved forwards before he could catch himself.

            This close to the canyon floor, he could see the people from Charon. A few of them were injured, wounds tied off with fabric taken from their own clothes- all of them looked tired, or scared. Many of them shot looks at the guards, either fearful or more openly hostile, when they could afford to.

            There were a _lot_ of the druz’a, Keith was coming to realize. More of them than galra, practically crawling the canyon. Eight of them alone were gathered around this particular enclosure. One of them stood slightly crooked, something like soot covering its entire left side. Many of the others around here were smeared or flecked with it- one of them stared Keith down through a half-melted faceplate.

            The fenced area had a gate- a huge, heavy one riddled with stout, and some sort of dial the size of his head. It, too, was sooty in places.

            He was starting to have some suspicions about where this was going and none of them were particularly pleasant. As the dark-clothed galra passed him, walking to the lock, Keith lifted his head and looked around, wondering if there was a way that he could fight free of the metal soldiers’ hands and run for it.

            He counted no less than six crossbows in his immediate vicinity and reconsidered.

            The dark-clothed galra calmly removed one of his gloves, drew a small knife from his belt and opened a cut on his palm before pressing it to the mechanism. “ _Az, Haxus, vozka kral, sa’oka rhos_.”

            The lock creaked and shifted- the rings that made up its center twisted and clicked as the galra withdrew his hand. The blood ran through the channels as they reassembled themselves, creating an odd, spreading glyph. With a final _clack_ , the last ring settled into place, and the chains didn’t detach as much as crawled free of the lock, writhing into unseen holds in the walls on either side.

            The dark-clothed galra stepped back very quickly from the door as it shuddered and began to open. Inside it was dark, the enclosure roofed by something firm, more chains clinking and shifting inside.

            “What’s in there?”

            The dark-clothed galra leveled him a disdainful look, and then looked past to the soldiers holding him- another flicker of light from his fingertips.

            Keith tried to brace himself, but still wasn’t ready- they simply threw him forwards, letting him sprawl in the dirt.

            Something large was breathing in the darkness.

            Keith kicked, hard, trying to leverage himself off the ground with his hands bound- he was able to twist into a sitting position but whatever it was had moved closer. He could feel, smell it more than he could see it- a heavy animal musk, threaded together with soot, blood, and something else- some kind of chemical smell.

            The light behind him from the open door reflected on something- a featureless metal mask, fitted over a snout. Sparks escaped from the metal grating around the jaw, pitted and blackened, scratched with rust.

            It huffed, seeming to scent him out, and in that moment, his eyes adjusted slightly, enough to make out the rest of the creature. Its shape was roughly catlike, raw and emaciated- as it advanced on strange, spindly claws, weeping wounds dripped onto the ground. The hind legs were shackled together, causing it to hobble as it moved, and a thick chain led from a great, heavy collar to a lock at the center of the room. It reached nearly the end of its chain, what he supposed was its nose craning to exhale uncomfortably warm breath that fluttered his bangs.

            There was a sudden prickly, crawling sensation in his right hand.

            A second later the creature lunged.

* * *

            One, two, three, four… when did they _get_ all of these guys out here? That was at least eighteen guards around the canyon plus the guy on the bridge plus all those weird constructs that had ambushed them at Charon- this was a major troop movement. Granted, this was also the middle of _nowhere_ it wasn’t like it would be hard to silence some hapless person having a picnic up in the canyon but it still struck her the wrong way that Arus’s northern border could just be carelessly invaded and nobody-

            Right at that moment a sentry turned, and Pidge fetched her face back from the cliff’s edge quickly. When no crossbow bolt thudded into the stone, she edged forwards on her elbows once again.

            The sentry wasn’t looking her way, but was staring below, past her, over at something in the corner of the camp. Their face was streaked with dark red stripes, something she had to wonder if it was paint, tattoo, or simply natural coloration.

            Focus. She hated that she had to- that her dad’s lifework was _right there_ and not only could she not show him, she had to focus on other things like not getting killed, and making sure her new friend didn’t get killed _either_.

            Pidge pulled out her scrying stone, let it dangle over the canyon. It jumped, spun, and writhed at the end of its cord, glowing brightly- by all accounts she was practically on top of Keith, just not far down enough.

            Well, that’d have to wait. She frowned, tied the stone back around her neck, and slunk back to their safe little copse of trees.

            “Patience, child.”

            “I’m _trying_! I’ve literally never had magic before, this _entire_ thing is new to me.”

            Blue lifted her head. “I was speaking to Shiro.”

            The knight, stripped to the waist, flashed a look of subdued irritation in Blue’s direction that cleared once his eyes slid past her and focused on Pidge. “What have we got?”

            “If we try to climb the sides of the cliff, we’re gonna get spotted and shot down before we get anywhere. Maybe if we waited for nightfall and picked a relative blind spot in the patrols, but that’s assuming galra dark vision isn’t that much better than ours, which it- probably is.”

            Lance shifted, not taking his eyes or his hands off the tear in Shiro’s side. A web of light swam uncertainly across his hands like sunlight underwater- little by little it fed itself into Shiro’s side.

            She was a little jealous. Healing had been the one thing she’d never really shown that much of an aptitude for, and here Lance- who wasn’t even a mage- had just gotten it as a present from a god.

            Shiro mulled it over, evidently trying not to move much while Lance worked. “Picking them off from a distance might give us the means to go down, but I doubt our friend on the bridge will let us do that in peace. Unless… we can keep it distracted.”

            “Okay are we talking about the same big monster? ‘Cause maybe you saw a different big monster than I did but running in front of that thing and distracting it does _not_ sound like a good idea.” Hunk gestured over his shoulder. “Better plan, what if we just… had Pidge do some magic, put bombs under the bridge, light them, giant monster goes down into the canyon.”

            “They’ve got prisoners down there in the canyon. Dropping the bridge would be a disaster.”

            “Not to mention…” Pidge crossed her arms. “That’s blackstone. Nobody even knows how to scratch it. Even _you_ couldn’t make something strong enough to blast that stuff apart.”

            Hunk wilted slightly. “So we have to fight a giant monster.”

            “We don’t have to beat it.” Shiro nodded at Blue. “If you’re willing to help me, I should be able to get its attention and stay ahead of it. I have the most cavalry experience here. In the meantime, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge can sneak closer to the camp, and Lance can pick off some of the guards. If we hit them fast, they won’t know where it’s coming from and we can avoid the chance of prisoners getting caught in the crossfire.”

            Lance pulled his hands away from Shiro’s side- what had before been a wound with stitches was now healthy pink skin, the only testament to its injury being a few odd pocks in the flesh. “We’ve got no idea what that thing is capable of. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

            Shiro paused, and then eased slowly to his feet. When he stood fully, he cracked a wry smile. “Well, I’m already doing much better than I was, thanks to you. So that’s a start.”

            Lance, having sat back worriedly, lit up in a smile.

            Even Pidge had to admit, it was a sound plan. Assuming nothing more heaped onto their plate suddenly, it could really work out.

* * *

            His foot caught unexpectedly with a _crunch_ on fragile clockworks. He stared down at the thing, shifting his weight slightly before he looked around at the broken metal bodies. “When you said ‘few bodies’ this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

            Beady eyes regarded it. “Suffice to say, they weren’t there before. The situation may have escalated further than either of us anticipated.”

            Shiro shaded his eyes with a hand, glaring at the sunlight. Pushing it through the day, even with Lotor’s help, was difficult. “…He’s past town. Doing… something. I’m not sure what.”

            “You know, I could really recommend some exercises for keeping track of your body. Not particularly difficult, certainly no challenge for someone of your unique power…”

            “This really isn’t the time.”

            Lotor fluttered from Shiro’s shoulder, and the body of the little magpie seemed to open neatly along seams, empty skin giving way to a much larger body, one covered in pale fur. He landed, neatly, on all fours, as cats do, and raised his tail into the air in the facsimile of a question mark. “Well, then. Where exactly are we headed?”

            Something swam before his eyes- a gorge. A bridge. A silhouette he recognized.

            “Breaker’s Gorge.”


	19. Monster

            “You’re uneasy.”

            Blue spoke in an undertone as they climbed the path, a careful corner-of-the-mouth murmur.

            “You can tell?” He’d thought he’d done a fairly good job of keeping things contained- it wasn’t as if he didn’t have enough distractions. Chief among them, now that he was properly alert, he could focus on all of the ways riding a cat was very, _very_ unlike riding a horse. For example, a horse was a relatively firm surface, albeit one that went up and down. With Blue, her entire musculature flowed underneath him, and were his legs not strapped to her sides, he expected he’d simply slide off of her back.

            “Do you _know_ this creature, Shiro?”

            He might’ve refused it, coming from anyone else- but then again, he was talking to a god. Unlikely, of course, that it would’ve taken a god to notice the way he’d stiffened when she asked.

            “…I’m not sure.”

            “But it strikes you as familiar.”

            They came into view of the bridge, Blue slowing at the edge of the trees. Shiro stared at the bridge’s guard- how armor alone could not account for the way one of its limbs twisted into a stump noticeably shorter than the other. “I’m fairly sure he was a person the last time I saw him.”

            “…That is _very_ concerning.”

            Shiro let out a tight breath through his teeth, appreciative that his side didn’t immediately scold him for it. “See, this is why I don’t like to have these conversations.” He leaned forwards, patting the side of her neck with his flesh-and-blood hand. “Ready to run?”

            They emerged from their cover. The beast’s head snapped in their direction. At first, it didn’t seem to have any eyes, or a helmet that obscured them. A moment later, however, a slit in its head opened, a vividly green eyeball sliding to point its rectangular pupil at the two of them.

            With a wet noise, a metal blade protruded from the stump arm, and it drew back.

            Blue tensed and then sprang- Shiro ducked, and the blade whistled over his head, embedding itself into a tree with enough force that it protruded from the other side. A chain hung from one end of it- as they watched it slowly pulled taut, coils in the creature’s stump arm twisting as it did.

            “Yeah,” Shiro breathed, “that’s new.”

            The chain pulled- the blade came free of the tree and a moment later it was swinging for Shiro’s head like a guillotine. He threw himself flat against Blue’s back- the beast grabbed the chain with its lone hand and pulled it back, aimed, threw again.

            This time, Shiro was ready for it- Blue dove forwards, and he snapped out his prosthetic, grabbing the blade at the narrow point where it joined the chain- it sunk a good ways into the wood. As they closed, the creature seemed rooted to the spot, smaller eyes opening around the main to gape.

            Blue sprang, teeth for its throat, and at the same time, Shiro came down with the hook. It let out a horrible howl, purple blood spraying where the hook sunk in.

            What he wasn’t prepared for was for Blue to fling herself backwards off the creature, nearly throwing him from the saddle. Or, a moment later to wheeze and gag, sinking close to the ground.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “His blood…” A cough that shook her ribs. “It’s some kind of poison.”

            A _bellow_ rose from the beast, thundering footsteps- it had torn the hook out of its shoulder and was barreling towards them with it in hand, raising it to bring it down like an executioner’s axe.

            Blue spat a cloud of pale vapor into its face and it balked, reeled, stumbled; she bounded free, flanking the creature though she continued to breathe heavily.

            Ice had covered most of the creature’s head. It clawed at the surface with its hand, digging chips of it away from its features.

            “That won’t hold for long.” But they’d put themselves to the side of the bridge. Behind the creature stretched nothing but open canyon.

            Not that _far_ behind, either.

            “Aquaria,” He leaned over her shoulder. “Can you rush him again?”

            Her eyes flitted to the drop, realizing his conclusion quickly. “The landing would be hard on you.”

            “I’m prepared for that.” An entire bridge might’ve been a problem- but a body, even a large body, would be different.

            Blue tensed.

            The creature tore off a chunk of the ice.

            Shiro hoped, earnestly, that they’d given Lance enough time to pick off at least most of the guards.

            They lunged.

            The combination of his and Blue’s weight struck the monster solidly in the chest. Failing to brace itself for the impact it came backwards a step, stubby talons hitting the angle-

            Sliding.

            They fell.

            There was a moment in freefall, the wind screaming past his ears, when he could see everything- the sky, the canyon littered with fences, makeshift walkways and huts- holes in the canyon wall that had been set with grates. A few of them held people. He thought he saw something- a flutter, a blur of fletching feathers in a falling, gray-armored body.

            The ground was coming fast to meet them.

            Blue’s stripes glowed under him- a feeling that traveled up his hands and legs.

            Impact.

            The harness ripped- he was thrown from the saddle, tumbling across the canyon. People were yelling- he could hear Blue snarling. Armored bodies were approaching on all sides, crossbows raised and aimed at her. Four guards- six more behind them. He pulled himself up on his forearms, and heard the click of another weapon overhead.

            Shiro winced, lowered his head.

            And then… a whistle.

            A whistle that Shiro _recognized_ , so careless it might have been issuing from someone ambling down a road, but just a little more intent, and a little more focused.

            A bolt of gold light threw one of the soldiers off their feet- another took an elbow to the back of the head and dropped listlessly. Nyma- hair unpinned, with a nasty black eye, but _alive_ , standing proud, yanking the crossbow from the dropped guard and immediately diving back into the fight. Another blast, Blue lunging off of the monster’s body and into the fray.

            Shiro pushed himself upright- someone caught his elbow. Rolo leaned in, grinning loosely. “Y’know, I talk to you about dramatic entrances sometimes, but you really-” he snapped his wrist, raising a barrier before a crossbow bolt embedded into it and stopped. “-outdid yourself this time.”

            “Didn’t quite plan that one.” He looked around- a hefty, unfamiliar woman was hitting a guard with a shovel. More shots were raining into the barrier. “Who’s all here?”

            “Us, Beezer, and pretty much the entire population of Charon. Ryth didn’t make it and I haven’t seen Aria.”

            Something rose in Shiro’s throat- he forced that down. (Focus.) “I found Aria’s body earlier.” He crouched, glancing around- sprinted from behind the barrier, grabbed a dropped crossbow, aimed, and returned fire.

            More of the townspeople were weighing in now- it evidently took relatively little of an opportunity to fight back, which gave the guards pause on where to aim- they struggled from all sides, some snapping commands at each other, others fleeing. Scattered- that was one thing- but still enough of them that if they regrouped there’d be a problem. And there didn’t seem to be any helpful arrows from above- he was trying not to think about what that meant about Lance.

            He felt Nyma thump against his back, shooting down a sniper that had evidently been closing on him from behind. “I’m looking for someone.”

            “Not human, about my age?” She ducked, grabbing a bolt to reload. “Guards took him a while back. If he’s not here, though, I have a guess where they put him.”

            A white streak on a walk of the cliff- Plachu, in canine form, springing on one of the guards still in the higher reaches. A moment later, other familiar faces rushed them- Hunk taking the lead with a stout wooden staff crowned on one end with a blunt hook, simply swiping the unfortunate interloper off the ledge.

            “Get down!”

            Nyma grabbed him, and an all-too-familiar blade swung overhead on the end of its chain. The guards were fleeing in masse now- but the monster was climbing unsteadily to its feet.

            Rolo had turned a rather ashy color, sweat trickling down his unshaven jawline. “Oh, fuck.”

            Blue growled. Some of the townspeople were lingering uncertainly- Hunk and the others will still heading down into the canyon.

            The creature hefted its weapon and began to swing it.

            “ _Run_! Get away from it!”

            That seemed to startle _everyone_ from their reverie- and the scene erupted in chaos. Nyma helped boost him and Rolo up a ledge- he pulled her up himself, the blade thudding into the rock beneath them seconds later. Almost heedless of anything else- the running townspeople, Blue stumbling on her feet- the beast lifted its head, stared straight at him.

            “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better,” Rolo panted, “I’d say this guy’s pretty mad at you.”

            “He is, long story, don’t know all the details. Nyma said you might know where they took Keith.”

            The blade swung by again, this time missing them by a fairly impressive margin and embedding itself in the wall. A moment later, the chain slackened- and bent upwards.

            _Oh no_.

            There it was- in midair, bowed legs bent, almost as high as the top of the canyon- coming down with a thundering _crash_. It swung its head towards Shiro, eye slit gaping wide, and _roared_. At some point the plate that had been sealing its mouth had come off- what was underneath it was unmistakably rotting in places. But its landing seemed to have embedded it in the stone- it thrashed, sending up a spray of rocks.

            Nyma briefly, but unmistakably shuddered. “Besides that thing, there’s some other kind of monster they keep penned up. Some of the villagers were telling me that their friends were thrown in there with it for a while.”

            The enclosure he’d seen while falling. It was up ahead of them- closed and locked, but seemingly bereft of guards. He tried to turn the tumblers himself- they wouldn’t budge. “Rolo, do you think you can get this open?”

            Rolo bit his lip, glancing at the lock, then back at the monster- it had nearly dug its way out. “It’d take more time than I think this thing’s gonna give us.”

            An idea sparked.

            “Go find Plachu, then. He’s with three other people. You can trust them- they helped me get this far. Regroup, see what you can do about getting the townspeople to safety.”

            Nyma stared. “Oh no. You’re gonna do something stupid and heroic again.”

            “Not that stupid.” He nodded his head at the lock. “If the thing in here doesn’t like our captors, it probably doesn’t like _him_ , either.”

            Rolo looked at Shiro. Suppressed a sigh, and patted him on the arm. “Try not to die, Captain, we just got you back.”

            _If you only knew_.

            They took off at a run together, sliding down the ledge and to the canyon floor just in time- as the monster dug itself back out of the cliff. Something stirred, watching it.

            “Myzax,” he said softly. Something about the way its head snapped towards him made it obvious that it had heard him. “That was… your name. You’re Myzax.”

            It started to run towards him.

            Shiro didn’t move.

            Forwards- fast, and yet it seemed agonizing. Two seconds. Three seconds. Don’t move, don’t, wait-

            The blade arm drew back.

            _Wait_.

            The arm swung forwards, the blade thrown- it flew towards them in a silver arc.

            Shiro threw himself to the right- tucked, rolled, curled against the canyon wall. Heard the blade hit the lock- a cracking noise, a heavy _thump_.

            What burst from the door streaked forwards like a comet, a burning silhouette spraying molten metal. As it hit the ground Shiro caught a vague sense of its silhouette- a long tail, a catlike frame- something dark that when jostled, lost grip of its neck and tumbled to the side as it bodily _threw_ itself at Myzax, emitting something that was more of a _scream_ than a cry.

            The dislodged body shuddered and groaned- Shiro ran over, gripping Keith’s shoulder. That just seemed to inspire him to curl up tighter, hands covering his face. Hands that were covered in short, dense, indigo fur- more patches of it visible from where the fire had eaten through his clothes, leaving raw burns.

            “Keith. It’s me. I’m here.”

            An eye peered up at him from between the fingers. The odd colors of it didn’t concern him so much as the fact that Keith allowed himself to be helped up. There were scratches on the bare part of his upper arm, but besides that and the burns he didn’t seem awful.

            Another shriek- he looked up to see Myzax had repelled the burning beast, the latter retreating, bristling, snarling and spitting but still moving backwards, before it twisted and took off across the canyon at top speed.

            _Oh, hell_ , Shiro thought, before a moment later Myzax turned to face him, that same enmity burning in the lone visible eye.

            And then, the rotting lips parted, long enough to spit a single, scornful word.

            “ _Champion_.”


	20. The Second Star

            They were halfway to the gorge before Shiro stopped dead in his tracks, which was not wholly unusual, given the sort of very _particular_ situation he had, but was nonetheless concerning, especially given the wide-eyed, glassy way the human stared into the distance.

            “…Shiro?”

            He seemed to snap out of it, at that- at least, he started running up the slope, which was not particularly encouraging. At least given his state of perpetual exhaustion and the weight of his armor, he didn’t make it very far before he had to stop, certainly not _too_ difficult for even the legs of a housecat to catch up to.

            He was unsure if speaking would actually warrant a response, but endeavored to try anyway. “Did something happen to him, by chance?”

            “Both of us.” Shiro forced himself upright, to keep climbing.

            “Approximately how concerning would you say this is?”

            “ _Very_.”

            He had figured about as much.

            Lotor _considered_. Considered the ways he had to speed this up, the consequences of that, the total unknown status of Breaker’s Gorge at present. The implications of galran military activity. The consequences of arriving early into a disadvantageous situation, vs. of arriving late to a fortuitous one.

            “Then perhaps we should hurry.”

* * *

 

            “Shiro?” Keith looked up. “What’s that thing, and _why_ does it know you?”

            Shiro wasn’t moving- he’d frozen where he stood, staring at the thing, mouth slightly open.

            The creature advanced on them again, dispassionately swatting at the burn now flecking its features. “I owe you,” it spoke slowly, still lumbering forwards one methodical stride at a time, “a _lifetime_ of the witch’s agony,” seizing the blade from its twisted arm, falling into a practiced swinging motion with it, “that you brought upon me.”

            “Shiro-” Keith glanced between them, the blade, the advancing person, of Shiro still there _spellbound-_ hesitated. Grit his teeth… and dug the claws of his hand into Shiro’s flesh-and-blood arm.

            That got him out of it- and just in time, as the blade was thrown forwards- Shiro’s hand snapped around his shoulder, towed him with in a dive-and-tumble down the ledge. A bellow escaped from the creature- person?- atop.

            “We need to get out of here.” Shiro said with certainty. “Are you hurt?”

            Not as much as he’d expected to be, but that was… another matter. He flexed his hands, the wrists tender and burnt, but, free. “I’m fine.” He pushed again. “Who _is_ that guy?”

            “Not friendly. And he’s a lot faster than we are.”

            He’d press for more, but Shiro didn’t seem to want to talk- and a moment later the creature made a great, arcing leap and came crashing down almost right in front of them. Shiro didn’t hesitate, but sped up, ducking at the last minute to pass under the creature’s arm.

            “We need to regroup,” he said simply, looking around. “Where’s-”

            A yellow-and-white arm Keith vaguely recognized grabbed Shiro and hauled him, seemingly into thin air. Keith didn’t have much time to think about it before the same thing happened to him.

            The other knight- Nyma’s friend- frowned, looking around. “That everybody? Good.” He grinned. “Nice of you all to drop in.”

            They were sitting under some kind of net made of yellow light, about five feet in diameter. Through the openings, the air shimmered and blurred. As soon as Nyma let go of him, Lance approached, looking him over with bright, worried eyes that made Keith squirm a little (right. He’d forgotten about _that_ in the face of both of the creatures) and grabbed one of his wrists, closing his hands over it.

            It… suddenly wasn’t stinging any more. “You can heal?”

            Lance looked up from his work briefly. “It’s kind of a new thing, we can talk about it later.”

            Shiro was looking over the group, evidently doing a head count. Hunk, Pidge, and Blue were all off to one side, Blue’s head on her crossed feet, eyes lowered. Pidge was looking up, wide-eyed in wonder at the net. Hunk, on Pidge’s other side, was seeing to the scraped leg of a tall, brawny woman Keith assumed was one of the residents of Charon, someone who had a face like a friendly apple and an expression like a thunderhead. Besides her, there were two others- a boy a few years younger than Keith himself with flyaway mouse-brown hair, and a man with a black push-broom mustache.

            “Where’s the rest of the townspeople?”

            The knight jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Away from the fight. Got Beezer and the Servant- Plachu, right?- looking after ‘em. There’s a lot of caves around here, so they can hide.” He jerked a thumb at the three in the bubble. “This lot wanted to help take care of big ugly and wouldn’t be talked out of it.”

            Shiro grimaced. “We’re probably going to need the help.”

            A gasp drew his attention over to Lance, who had evidently finished on one arm and gone for the other.

            Between the burns and calluses of his palm, there was a cherry-red circle, about the size of a tenner coin- inside was the shape of a five-tongued flame, a notch missing from the base of it.

            Lance looked back at Blue, her head lifting before she came over to stare as well. A few of the others started to crowd as well.

            Hunk jabbed a fingertip at it. “Hey, Lance, doesn’t that look like-”

            “Yeah.” Lance looked up at Keith. “Is this usually here? Were you just hiding it, like the rest of…” he paused, gesturing.

            “I’ve never seen it before.”

            “I have.” Pidge shifted forwards. “It’s… Volcanius. The Northern Star. God of oracles, warfare, and…” she grinned a little ruefully. “Well, you can guess what the other thing is. Anyway, that’s his crest. His temple in the palace has that symbol _everywhere_.” She paused. “So why do you have it?”

            Lance sat back after a moment, wrestling with his sandal. “I _think_ I know why.” He lifted his right foot- showed off a blue circle with a different symbol, the same size and peculiar neatness as Keith’s. “This showed up when I first met Blue.”

            “The bond mark, yes.” Blue spoke at last, looking deeply unhappy. “…It _was_ him, then.”

            “That thing that Sendak was keeping trapped?” Keith looked back at the mark. “It _attacked_ me.”

            Blue’s eyes closed. “I know. And that _deeply_ concerns me.”

            A silence fell, into which the knight coughed quietly.

            “Uh, is anyone else feeling _very_ lost right now?”

            Shiro, despite himself, cracked a smile, thumping the man on the shoulder. “I’ll catch you up later. For now…” he looked to Blue. “If that was Volcanius, he ran off after attacking Myzax. I didn’t see where he went.”

            “I should have felt Volcanius’s presence from the moment we entered the canyon.” Blue lowered her head towards the ground. “As it is, I’m certain that another of my kin is here as well, but I can barely feel Volcanius, even now. I suspect something horrible has been done to him- especially if he would lash out at a potential pact.”

            “Maybe he… didn’t know? I mean,” Hunk leveled a shrewd look at Keith, “no offense, but he kinda looks a lot like a galra right now.”

            “That’s because I _am_ one.” Keith folded his arms. “And I wouldn’t, if I had this thing off.”

            “Oh. Right.” Nyma scooted over, fishing a knife out of her boot. “Hold still.” He felt the blade close enough to his skin to brush his fur, shifting and working against the metal collar.

            “Yeah, okay, but my point is-”

            “He would have known. It’s impossible for us to ignore a bond, even when it hasn’t been forged into a proper pact. It would be about as difficult as ignoring a part of your own body. That he would not only wound Keith, but then abandon him… Volcanius is a loyal soul.”

            “…How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

            Heads turned towards Shiro, who was looking downwards, expression nearly unreadable. “It’s been thousands of years, right? People change. Not always for the better.”

            Grim silence fell in the space. It was the knight that spoke up, cautiously. “Well… I’m not gonna pretend I have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, but Volcanius is a _god_. If he really wanted us all dead, I figure we’d _be_ pretty dead, yeah? So that’s got to count for something.”

            Blue looked unsure if she was reassured or put off by the assertion. “…That is true.” She looked down to Keith’s wrist, at the healing Lance hadn’t finished. “He could have done much greater harm, even sealed. Even if he were consumed with rage and grief, I wouldn’t expect him to flee before an enemy. That’s… nearly the behavior of a mindless beast.”

            The collar cracked off, and with a welcome sigh Keith let his second skin settle back in place. It was a bit off-putting that none of the looks people were giving him ameliorated much. “Well, that’s fine. We can ask him when we find him.”

            “You just got kidnapped by cave monsters and now you wanna chase a potentially crazy god?” Hunk paused. “Y’know what? Great. That even mostly sounds like a good idea.” At Lance and Pidge’s incredulous looks, he shrugged indignantly. “What? I can’t be the only one that noticed all those other galra scattered for the hills once we started winning and the big monster got our attention, right? If the whole point of stopping this sky-cutting thing is getting the gods together, it kinda makes sense we’re not the only ones looking for him. And if he’s freaking out that much, he _maybe_ doesn’t have enough fight in him that he’ll kill us all for coming after him.”

            “That’s great,” Nyma said sharply, “except in the meantime we’ve got someone a lot closer that _is_ gonna kill us all, and Rolo can’t hold this shelter forever.”

            The knight cheerfully raised a hand, sweat beading on his brow. “Don’t mind me. Doin’ great.”

            Shiro’s mouth pressed into a contemplative line. “Then we’ll split up. One group chases Volcanius, one group holds off Myzax and stops him from going after the townspeople or the other party. Since he’s been focused on me the entire time, I’ll stay here. Lance, I want you and Aquaria with Keith. If it comes to it, you two are in the best position to hold your ground against another god.” His attention shifted to Blue. “…I understand that’s a lot to ask.”

            “Volcanius needs my help.” Blue lofted her head. “However he needs to _be_ helped, I want to be there.”

            “I’m going with Lance. I’m gonna meet Volcanius.” Pidge’s gaze landed on Keith, in a way that made him vaguely uncomfortable. “And I’ve got questions for _you_.”

            “I’m with Shiro.” Hunk rested his hands on his knees. “Don’t trust this Myzax guy with anybody’s back.”

            The knight, Rolo, smiled weakly. “Think I’ll stick with the captain, in case he’s about to try something crazy.”

            “Same here,” Nyma said curtly.

            After a moment, the mustached man folded his arms, speaking up at length. “You lot have some pretty peculiar lives, but I like your spirit. I’ll wrestle the beast.”

            “You’ve got me,” the boy spoke up, grinning. “I catch hot coals barehanded for fun. I’m not scared of some demon.”

            The woman cautiously eased to her feet, then putting more confident weight on her injured leg. “Well, I suppose we better show these lowlanders what red-blooded Charon folk are worth, aye?”

            Shiro nodded, grimly. “Then we have our positions. Rolo, get ready to drop the shield. When he does, those of you heading for the caves, make a run for it. The rest of us, converge on Myzax. Get his attention, make him mad. If we can manage it, we don’t even want him to _see_ the cave team.”

            “Ready…”

            The weaving above them shuddered in place. Then, all at once, it vanished, leaving them blinking in the sudden sunlight.

            “ _Run_!”


	21. Vein

            The caves were quiet. After the chaos of the battlefield, it was a welcome change, but they were very different from the mines around Charon- these were vast, smooth-walled chambers, almost as if carved by a giant worm through the rock.

            “Lava tubes. There used to be magma flowing through this whole area.” Even if Pidge meant to keep her voice down, it echoed. “It makes sense, I mean… Sabertooth Ridge was made by one big volcano. Over time, it migrated east, so after it built one mountain it just shifted and made another one. I’d bet these run under the whole ridge.”

            “Hey, that’s pretty cool.” Lance looked around. “We had a couple of volcanoes back home, on the big islands, but they didn’t make tunnels.”

            Keith shook his head. “How often did you go digging around underneath them?”

            Lance looked back at him, staring over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, I guess you’d know, cave guy.”

            “ _…what?_ ”

            “Living underground is a galra thing, right?”

            Oh. He really should’ve felt like this topic would come up sometime. “I _told_ you already. Human dad, I didn’t know my mom- I don’t know anything more about what’s a _galra thing_ than you do. Before today I’d never even seen one.”

            “Except yourself,” Pidge pointed out.

            His hands shot up. “ _Whatever_! Except me. Can we focus?”

            “You’re the only one that’s gotta focus here, you’ve got the magic lion mark.” Lance paused, looking at Blue with a frown. “…Anything?”

            “Difficult to say. We’re a ways away from water. It dims my senses a bit.” She scratched a talon at the earth below them. “Aurum could say more easily than I.”

            “Since Aurum’s the earth god.” At Keith and Lance’s mutual stares, Pidge shook her head. “Do _neither_ of you guys know basic mythology?”

            Lance shrugged. “Around the islands we weren’t too big on anybody but Aquaria.” He gestured at Blue. “Besides, she’s the best.”

            “I had a lot of other things to focus on.” How complicated could it be, though? “So there’s five of them and they’re all a color.”

            “Color, element, direction, and a bunch of associations. The four compass points, and then the Crown- that’s the center.” Pidge ticked them off on her fingers. “Aquaria- that’s Blue, she’s South, the sea, travelling, love, agriculture… luck…”

            “See?” Lance patted Blue’s back, receiving a soft look in return. “We’re totally in good hands.”

            “Volcanius is red, north, fire and visions and that stuff I said before. Aurum is yellow, the west, earth, wealth and prosperity. Kinda surprised we went through an entire mining town and didn’t find a temple to Aurum. Maybe we missed it.” Pidge shrugged. “Other than that there’s Verdant, my patron god.”

            There was a brief, undignified noise from Blue.

            Pidge stared hard after her. “What?”

            “You are _exactly_ the sort of person I would expect to be a follower of Verdant.”

            “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

            Another chuff from Blue. “It was not meant as an insult, child.”

            Evidently, it was _taken_ as one, because Pidge huffed in irritation before she continued. “Verdant is the god of knowledge. Basically _all_ the big historical scholars have stories about how they ventured into the wilderness to seek inspiration from her.”

            Lance puzzled for a moment. “…Aren’t there a lot of stories about people going into the woods and getting _eaten_ by Verdant?”

            Pidge shrugged with surprising candor. “I mean if you’re a thousand-year-old muse of secret wisdom you’re not gonna talk to everybody who sits on a tree stump, right? They probably got lost and eaten by something else. I think you’d have to try a lot harder to be rude to get eaten by a god.”

            Keith wasn’t sure if the mark on his hand genuinely itched, or if he was just overthinking it. “Thanks Pidge, that fills me with confidence about what we’re doing.”

            Blue stopped walking abruptly, so quickly that Lance almost passed her before he stopped. She sniffed the air, whiskers twitching, ears turning back briefly. “…We are not alone.”

            “Is it Volcanius?”

            She pointed her head forwards, turning it side to side. “No. I can’t tell where it’s coming from or what it is, but I’m certain it’s not that.”

            Something in the darkness caught Keith’s eye- a faint glimmer. “What’s that?”

            It looked like fire- or some kind of burning pitch, dripped on the ground. More spots of the liquid littered the passage ahead, some on the ground, others on the walls, all burning with the same intensity. It illustrated a strange, meandering path of flickering lights.

            “Volcanius.” Blue said softly. “He’s bleeding.”

            “Did whatever else is in the cave hurt him?”

            Keith stared down at the blood. “…No. He was bleeding before. I got some of it on my hands- I guess that’s… how it burned me.” He held a hand over the flames, felt the heat, withdrew it.

            “…Well, I guess it’s, follow the burning blood trail.” Lance frowned. “He’s probably not going to… get that far, if he’s bleeding this much.”

            Pidge let out a sudden squeak- when Keith looked, she was staring downward, at a streak of pale fur drifting past her ankles.

            An expression of pure wonder crossed Lance’s features. “Aww, it’s a kitty!” He crouched immediately, clicking his fingers- the cat padded over to sniff them. It didn’t look much like the sort of housecats Keith had seen- this one was a lanky creature, pale-furred and large-eared, with fine-boned features. Lance, without hesitation, progressed to patting its head. “Wonder if it belongs to one of the townspeople. It’s too friendly to be a stray.”

            Blue ventured over to sniff at it, only to be thwarted as the much smaller creature evidently decided it had no desire to be that close to a distant relative and scooted back to safety around Pidge’s legs.

            Pidge picked it up, soliciting a plaintive noise at first, but the cat settled its forelimbs over her shoulder soon enough. “When we get back we can ask around. Assuming, y’know, everybody else dealt with the monster problem.”

            The blood droplets weren’t a hard path to follow. They burned brightly enough to bathe the whole tunnel in their glow, irregular in their distance and size but always just enough. He tried not to think about what that meant for the god.

            The _god_. He’d seen only glimpses in the enclosure- shackles and chains and a gaunt body. He looked over at Blue- her shining coat and supple muscles, sleek but chubby, well-groomed and well-fed. Her pace was urgent, not wanting to be distracted.

            Keith’s palm grew warm, then hot.

            Then, all of the sudden, the trail stopped.

            Ahead was a many-pronged fork in the cave, paths stretching in all directions. Each was equally dark, and walking forwards, there was nothing he could see in them, even with his eyes.

            A drip, and a hissing noise. He thought he heard Pidge yell something but it was suddenly very hard to hear her at all. He looked over his shoulder, only to find the path behind him blocked, the cavern tunnel filled floor-to-ceiling with burning flames.

            Another drop of blood- and this time he could see it drip down from- _above_.

            Compared to Blue, Volcanius was rather small, but still a dauntingly large predator. A long, thick-furred tail, the dull reddish fur marked with ring-shaped black spots that gathered to a dark plume at the tip almost like an ink-dipped writing brush. That tail tip swished once, sharply in the air as Volcanius leapt down, landing soundlessly in front of the barrier.

            Volcanius’ eyes were the color of hot coals, set in a gaunt visage, ashy white fur on his chin and just beneath his eyes. His ears were distinguishingly large and conical, and his forelimbs were odd, gnarled, spindly-looking things capped with gripping talons, and yet he walked on them with no difficulty as he prowled a circle around Keith. Amongst the fresh wounds, scars dominated his body, cut through his pelt on many sides- a huge one snaked under his left forelimb and up his side, and yet for the wariness of it all, Keith found himself holding his breath, rooted to the spot.

            “You.” The god rumbled. “Come here thinking that you could hide from me, did you?” Those brilliant eyes slitted. “Show yourself, before I burn that glamour from your flesh.”

            Keith felt himself stiffen.

            The hackles of the god rose. He bared his teeth, a faint light rapidly building in intensity at the back of his throat as he drew a breath inwards.

            The glamour peeled away, and, again, he felt naked, exposed.

            Volcanius exhaled, harmlessly, through his nose, mouth closed and ears perking upright. He stepped forwards, and in the silence Keith could hear a scratching _rasp_ of the claws on the stone.

            “You’re merely a child.” Peering at Keith’s abdomen, he added, “spindly thing.”

            “Well you don’t look fantastic _either_.” There were balding patches in his fur, places where no doubt chains and restraints had rubbed the long, silky hairs off.

            Bright red eyes locked on him, and Keith’s heart sank into his shoes, remembering that he’d just insulted someone who had been seconds ago threatening to incinerate him.

            A deeply amused, wheezy _grunt_ escaped. “So I don’t.” He spread his forelimbs and lowered himself to the ground, carefully at first, but then more or less plunking in place, forelimbs folded beneath him, hind legs sprawled out to the side. “But why are you _here_ , son of the deep earth?” he crinkled his nose after a moment. “Son of the fields? Son of them both, perhaps.”

            “He is here because of _you_ , Volcanius.” A sudden draft of cold air- Blue, dripping silvery liquid from her jaws and looking very cross indeed, stepping through the cloud of steam that had once been the flame barrier. “And I am pleased to see you’ve brought him to no harm.”

            “…Aquaria?” The red eyes widened. Almost as quickly as he’d lain down, Volcanius scrabbled to his feet, clumsily. “What do you- you’re…” He inhaled again, swayed his head side to side like a bewildered snake. “You’re _whole_. Blaytz is with you?”

            “Blaytz is dead, Volcanius.” Blue’s tone was soft. “You knew that.” She turned her head slightly- Lance was standing behind her, looking worried. “This is Lance. He is my Chosen.”

            Volcanius approached Lance a moment, and then recanted the step. “You can’t have forgotten him so soon.” In contrast to his bold assertions earlier, this was a halfhearted murmur. “You loved him.”

            “I do.” The words escaped as little more than a sigh. “And I love you, as well. Let us help you.”

            Volcanius’ head was hanging low from his shoulders, staring down at the floor. “Must we?”

            The larger cat pressed her head against his, drawing her cheek past him. “There’s poison in your veins of more than one kind. Such things make the darkness tempting.”

            It was almost hard to tell when Volcanius slumped forwards off of his feet, leaning against Blue, but she eased him to the ground. “I had a dream,” he whispered, “Alfor came back to me.”

            _Alfor_? Who was- he looked to Lance, to Pidge; the latter seemed pensive, but the former was only watching the two Lions.

            “Lance,” Blue said. “I’ll need your help healing him.”

            Together they eased Volcanius onto his side, Blue sitting to the side of him. But no sooner had Lance put his hand near the wounded god’s side when Volcanius lifted his head, peering hard in Pidge’s direction. “Wait. Who is that?”

            “…You mean Pidge?”

            Volcanius shook his head. “Beside her. Strange beast. Not one of these lands, are you?”

            The white cat jumped from Pidge’s shoulders.

            “Yes,” it said. “Where _are_ my manners?”


	22. Shatter

            He went directly for the face.

            It wasn’t a pragmatic target, wasn’t a disabling one, but it was personal, it was distracting, and, with a sturdy prosthetic behind it, hopefully decently painful. Myzax’s cheek gave both a little more and a little less than it should, and Shiro tried not to think about what that implied for the texture. It wasn’t that hard to keep his mind off it, admittedly- because the world was exploding- Hunk had bolted to one side of Myzax, landing a hard blow with his staff to the side of the knee. Nyma juggled the knife from her boot, flipping it to her free hand and sinking it into the gaps in armor around the monster’s neck. As soon as it bit in, she let go, sprang backwards, Rolo making a series of quick motions with his hands, mouth moving soundlessly.

            _That_ trick. As Myzax toppled, caught himself on the bulky arm, Shiro grabbed Hunk and towed him away from the body, motioning for the three townspeople to stay back. Just in time- Rolo finished his spell, and a bolt of gold lightning struck the knife.

            The sound that escaped was raw, almost animalistic- drops of eye-searing violet ichor spilled in all directions.

            “Stay away from the blood!” He warned- if it could poison a _god_ by dripping into her mouth, he didn’t want to think about what even skin contact would do to mortal men.

            They circled the slumped figure cautiously, Rolo’s fingers sparking with energy, but faintly. Holding a barrier for as long as he had wasn’t easy, even on one of the better casters in the Order’s rank-and-file. They had to find a way to disengage, before it was too late.

            Myzax grit his teeth, pulled the dagger out like he was merely shedding a tick and flung it towards the village boy- who dove behind the older woman just in time, letting it clatter on the rocks. “Mortal wounds.” Stubby, clawed fingers dug into the breastplate and then simply _tore it off_. “Mortal _weapons_.” The eye slit opened again, staring them down- no, staring at _him_ , the monster only had eyes for him, a cold sneer, as he opened his hand and let the crumpled armor fall. “They mean nothing to me any longer.”

            A wave of nausea rose in Shiro’s throat.

            Myzax’s chest was _open_ \- a wide ellipse in the center of his ribcage stripped entirely of flesh, pale ribs pointing towards a hefty plate of black stone bolted in place of the sternum. Between the ribs, something- some indescribable, twisting, pulsing machine. He could catch only glimpses of flowing ichor and some sort of crawling shadow.

            If he still had his own heart, he expected it would have shuddered at the sight.

            They couldn’t defeat that. They had to get out of here- lead Myzax away from-

            The blade whistled through the air- snaking towards the boy from Charon. Rolo pulled him close, trying to deflect it with a barrier- it glanced off, but the light sputtered and sparked, and a moment later he slumped against the person he was protecting. And Myzax simply drew his arm back and readied another attack.

            Before Shiro could more than blink, the mustached villager tore past him, hurling a hefty, iron-banded barrel to crack against the back of Myzax’s head. “I don’t care what demon put _you_ together, but that’s my boy, you _brute_.” He backed up as Myzax staggered, tilting his head towards Shiro as the beast turned to face them both. “Captain, I have his attention. I’d appreciate a plan.”

            “We’re out of our depth. This is _nothing_ like we’ve dealt with before. If it’s possible we can keep him distracted and have the kid run for the cave team, Aquaria might know how to stop him.”

            Hunk had lunged on Myzax- he twisted his staff into the blade’s chain and then stabbed it hard into the ground, before simply closing in and swinging a fist at the exposed ribcage.

            Nyma came up on Shiro’s other side, raising her stolen crossbow- she aimed for the head, but Myzax’s eye slit was closed, and the bolt clattered off the ridges around it. “If we’re looking for divine inspiration, there might be another way.”

            “The old temple?” The mustached man contemplated a moment. “You just might have something, lass.”

            Shiro glanced between them. “You lost me.” Hunk and the townswoman were doing a fair job keeping Myzax busy for the moment- Rolo was nearly unconscious- the Charon boy was all but carrying him to a safer distance.

            “There’s some kind of ruin at the bottom of Breaker’s Gorge. Locals say it’s a temple to Aurum, and have been praying here for a while. That’s why the galra kidnapped them- they were looking for the temple, and they’ve been forcing us to dig it out.” Nyma pointed to the far end of the gorge- past Myzax. Shiro hadn’t noticed before- two lumps of reddish stone, weathered but the imaginative eye could see them as a pair of seated lions.

            Aquaria had said there was another god here besides Volcanius.

            _Of course_. “Any ideas how to get there without taking a chain scythe between the shoulders?” Hunk’s staff was straining against the weight of the chain- it wouldn’t hold for long.

            Hunk danced away from a swing from Myzax’s free hand, nearly backing into Shiro. “Uh, I don’t know if you’re talking about beating big monster guy, but, I have an idea and you’re _probably_ not gonna like it.”

            Myzax was barreling towards them full-tilt. Shiro clapped a hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “Talk and run at the same time!”

            They scattered- Nyma and the villager one way, Shiro and Hunk the other. Hunk peered worriedly at the staff- Myzax had realized his arm was caught, emitting another savage roar and tugging. Astonishingly, the staff was still holding- Hunk peered at it worriedly before refocusing, and unpocketing a small bundle of burlap, about the size and shape of a child’s bag of marbles.

            It also had a cloth fuse dangling from its opening, so Shiro guessed it _probably_ didn’t contain marbles.

            “I made one more of these than I ended up using against the metal guys. Now I’m _not_ a freaky magic expert, so that may not stop him, but if we light it up right under his feet, it should at least give him something else to think about besides us.”

            He remembered the blasts at Charon- shouldn’t be a problem, as long as they got everyone clear. He looked at Hunk. “What’s the part I won’t like?”

            “Well, according to what I’ve been hearing, there’s this temple complex right underneath us. Which is awesome, but this stuff,” he pointed at the bundle, “was made for _mining_ , so it rips through stone pretty good. If I set this off on top of a cave ceiling it could destabilize at _least_ a lot of the valley floor, which, good news, _might_ hurt this guy more. Bad news, _we’re collateral_.”

            Shiro chewed his lip. They didn’t have much time- Myzax had backtracked to the staff and put a heavy foot against its side- the wood was groaning, but not giving quite yet. Nyma and the two older villagers were on the other side of him.

            He snapped off a hand sign in her direction, a circle and a point- Nyma nodded, grimly, said something to her companions and started to run, sinking another crossbow bolt in Myzax’s shoulder for good measure. Rolo and his young helper were nowhere in sight- they had to hope that was good enough. They wouldn’t have another window.

            He nodded to Hunk. “Do it now.”

            Hunk fished a match out of his pocket, struck it against a metal plate on the back of one of his gloves, and then touched the flame to the wick.

            The staff groaned and creaked.

            Hunk lobbed the bomb.

            A loud _snap_ \- the staff finally giving way. Shiro didn’t look back, even as the chain whistled as Myzax began to spin it- he was too busy running, a hand on Hunk’s back to push the younger man ahead of him-

            He heard a sound that was not the noise itself, but the ringing _echo_ that followed afterwards, because in the moment it struck, the whole world shuddered.

            The ground gave way beneath him.

            Hunk skidded to a stop- grabbed his arm, braced his feet against the stones even as they were sliding downward, cracks spreading from the original site. Their eyes met- briefly.

            They fell, down, into the darkness. Into a breath of cold and ancient air, the exhale of crumbling and forgotten lungs remembering life once more.

            It almost.

            Felt.

            Familiar.

* * *

 

            The heart skipped a beat.

            It fluttered with exertion, trembled with emotions he didn’t particularly feel at the moment. He was well used to it doing so- echoes of the liveliness that came with living mortal flesh.

            Sometimes, if he was in a particularly honest mood, he worried that he was forgetting what that felt like- a body that breathed, needed to be fed, could sleep and replenish itself. Something that didn’t consist of heavy stone armor bolted stubbornly to a promise and a will and little else.

            Right now, he was simply not in the frame of mind to consider that.

            Lotor had gone down into the ravine. Talked him out of charging in himself- reminded him what tended to _happen_ when he approached the other one, what Lotor called the shell, entreated to let him scout ahead at least, get a clearer sense of the situation.

            Left him alone with his thoughts, though, at least not uncomfortably so with the way that the sun had settled into twilight, shadows enough that they accommodated him.

            As usual, Lotor was to be his source of information. He didn’t like that. Lotor wasn’t cruel- at least, not as far as Shiro could gather- but he was an opportunist.

            Shiro had experienced enough of opportunists to last him beyond his own lifetime. So he stood, boots inches from the edge of the bridge, watching below- a sudden flare of bright light, the opening of some sort of large sinkhole.

            His heart hammered in his ears, full of someone else’s fear. And it settled, calmed- abruptly, not naturally.

            Creaking noises alerted him that he was gripping his false hand too tightly, and loosened it.

            No sign of telltale magpie feathers. Or anything else Lotor might have settled into.

            So be it, then.

            He adjusted his cloak, with his hands first and then with something else, lethargic bones creaking, pushing the cloth aside and reaching for the sky.

            Against the last rays of the sun he spread black wings- tattered, decrepit things, molting feathers with each motion, the bones exposed at points. They stretched, felt the air- would hold, would suffice.

            He leaped from the bridge, and down into the fissure.


	23. Magpie

            Volcanius made an attempt to rise, flames licking past his jaws. Pidge hastily scooted away from the cat, who seemed astonishingly unperturbed.

            “There’s no need for that,” it said smoothly, with a flick of its tail. “I have not come to harm you.”

            A rumble in Volcanius’s throat. After a moment, he bit off his flames, settled into place once again with a somewhat irritable lash of his tail. “You _speak_ truth. But you do not _wear_ it.”

            “Unavoidable, I’m afraid. I’m quite a busy person, and can’t attend to things as freely as I’d like. _This_ is what we’ll have to contend with, although,” a glint in the cat’s eye, “that doesn’t mean I can’t make myself presentable.”

            The cat’s back split open- smoothly and bloodlessly, and as it did the rest of its body sagged, folded in on itself as if what had filled it was simply withdrawing, moving out of the opening.

            What left the body of the cat, however, was considerably larger than what had filled it. He stepped free of the empty skin and smiled pleasantly, glancing between them with shockingly blue eyes set behind long-lashed lids. His hair was silvery white, nearly glowing in the gloom of the cavern, well-tamed except for where a single flyaway curl bracketed angled and graceful features.

            His complexion was unmistakably a shade of pale violet, hands capped with short, dark claws. But he was only a head or so taller than Keith.

            Lance spoke first, still kneeling beside Volcanius. “Who the heck are _you_?”

            “My name is Lotor.” He folded himself into a neat bow. “Prince of the galra, and son of Zarkon.”

            “ _Zarkon_!” The word erupted from Volcanius, bare syllables from the roar of a snarling beast- red sparks and droplets of blood spattered, some of them narrowly missing Lance.

            Blue was poised protectively over the other god, though she watched the stranger warily, rather than with open anger. “…So you say. But you also have not come to harm us.”

            The air could have been cut with a knife. Pidge was staring hard, coldly at the figure, knuckles white in their grip on her staff. Lance looked about as guarded as Blue did. And the stranger- Lotor- somehow stood at the crossroads of every wary eye with an expression of perfect serenity.

            “I have come,” he said smoothly, “to talk.”

            “Why?” That burst from Pidge, and it seemed to surprise Lance as much as it had Keith himself. “Your crony couldn’t beat us so you came in personally?”

            “My _crony_?” Lotor tilted his head. “Do you mean _Sendak_ , by that? My, it’s fortunate he can’t hear you.”

            “Oh, so you guys don’t get along, huh?” There was something in Lance’s tone Keith couldn’t quite parse.

            A small smile was flexed in his direction. “Let’s not lose focus.” He shifted his attention to Volcanius. “As tradition would dictate, I should present an offering before I make my request.”

            Volcanius lifted his head, wary, but evaluating. Impressed, perhaps. “…Continue.”

            “My first offering is sanctuary. Through my observations of our surroundings, the majority of Sendak’s forces have fled the scene. He has left behind the revenant that was with him, which appears… occupied, and unlikely to come pursuing you.”

            “What about _your_ forces?” Pidge crossed her arms. “You not planning to hurt us doesn’t mean anything if you just brought people to do it for you.”

            “My closest ally is _also_ busy at the moment.” Lotor regarded her sidelong. “I doubt he’ll drop in, and the others are otherwise occupied. As I said, you aren’t my only concern.”

            “So… we’re safe. That’s what you’re saying.” Lance hadn’t taken his eyes off Lotor, but there was a watery light emanating from his hand where it rested on Volcanius’s back.

            “For the time being. I wouldn’t recommend being this close to the tower.” He glanced them over, brows lofted. “With all intended respect to your present company, it’s _far_ more fortified than you can handle.”

            Keith had to admit, that was an awfully _convenient_ thing to say. “How do we know you’re not lying because you want us to leave it alone?” Especially when Pidge had flat-out said she wanted to go there. How long had this guy been following them? If he could turn into a cat, what else could he do?

            Lotor’s eyes landed very directly on him, in a way that made his skin prickle. They were a little bit _too_ blue, too bright in the darkness, the way his hair was, like some strange light had been trapped inside of him and it leaked out here and there. “Why don’t you ask your god?”

            “…He speaks truth.” Volcanius offered again, a bit reluctantly. “I cannot guarantee there’s no agenda to his words, but when he says the tower is fortified, he speaks to what he truly believes.” His lip curled slightly. “What _is_ this tower you speak of? What peril is there?”

            “Precisely my second offering.” The prince made a small motion, as if he were cupping water in his hand. Pale light spilled upwards from his fingertips, twisted itself into a silhouette of a reaching structure that looked more like the claw of a beast than a tower. “And, incidentally, much related to my request, considering they used you to build it.”

            A rumble from Volcanius, not a word for anyone in the room, but for the situation. He stood, more certainly than he had before, startling Lance who’d still been in the process of healing him. “I _recall_. They sought to build roads across the Sundering.”

            “And they’ve succeeded quite remarkably. The tower is merely one of them, but that’s not its only function, nor even what it was intended to accomplish. Rather…” He shifted his fingers, and the white light turned dark red, dripping down from his fingers. “The Witch intends to use it to harvest an unprecedented amount of sacrifices from the world above her.”

            Blue’s hackles stood up slowly. “To what end?”

            “My father survived.”

            Blue took a step back- Volcanius stood on the spot as if he had been paralyzed. It was the former that spoke, softly. “No…”

            It was very difficult to read the look on Lotor’s features. “I can personally attest it’s the case. And if the Witch gathers enough blood, he’ll make a full recovery. To this, the tower is seemingly instrumental, but I can’t be certain how, exactly.”

            “But we don’t have to find out. I mean, if it’s important, we can just have Keith pact too, bust in there with two gods, rip it down.” Lance looked around the room. “…Right?”

            “He just said it’s too guarded for us to take.” Pidge eyed Lotor darkly. “And I’m guessing you’re not saying that you’re gonna _help_ us.”

            The taller galra seemed wholly untroubled. “If I could make a direct move against the Witch, do you think I would be here?”

            A fine breath escaped Blue. “Ah. So that’s your request.”

            “Reasonable, is it not? The only thing I’m asking of you is to finish what was begun thousands of years ago. Preferably, sooner rather than later.” The light he was still holding flickered suddenly, turned black. He glanced at this with a raised eyebrow. “Oh. You’ll have to excuse me. It seems my associate’s run afoul of something, so I ought to go collect him before any lasting harm is done.” And with that, he set off down the passage, waving airily behind him.

            Pidge, surprising Keith a second time, bolted after him. “Don’t you dare-!” She grabbed his arm.

            Which slacked, empty in her grasp, Lotor’s entire body collapsing like a hollow shell. With a faint sound of wings, a little magpie fluttered forwards, disappearing rapidly into the distance.

            For a moment, Pidge simply stood where she was. Then she seemed to realize what she was holding, and flung it away from her with a noise of disgust.

            Blue paced over to sniff at it, pressing it down with a paw. “…Volcanius, what do you make of this?”

            The other lion merely glanced in its direction. “A snakeskin of some sort. It’s been altered to the facsimile of mortal flesh, but the power that changed it so has left it unstable. The other one,” he nodded towards where the cat had been, “has already decayed as soon as the power left it. No doubt this one will soon follow suit.”

            The bridge of the cat’s nose wrinkled. “Beyond what he told us, I cannot be certain of anything about him. I thought it a product of the poison in my veins, but having recovered this much, I remain at a loss. Of his name and title, he certainly _believes_ they are his own.”

            Another sigh from Blue. “Hearing that from you worries me.”

            “…Yeah,” the word dragged itself loose of Lance’s throat- he threw himself to his feet, dusting himself off. “Creepy shapeshifter in a cave just asked us to kill some kind of super not dead guy before someone else kills a bunch of people, I’m a little freaked out. Is this a normal god-chosen thing, like- should I just get used to it? I’m not used to it.” He looked around at the rest of them. “Keith, you’re still kinda…”

            _He’d been unglamored the entire time_. His human skin sprang back into place, feeling heat in his ears- it was a good thing he didn’t blush. Volcanius, eyeing him across the room, grunted in a way that seemed displeased, which just made him feel worse.

            “Yeah, okay,” Lance clapped his hands, startling Pidge out of whatever train of thought she’d been in- she scooted back from the empty body Lotor had left behind. “I don’t know about anybody else but freaky guy implied some stuff was going wrong outside, so, I really think we should check in with Hunk and Shiro and- _whoahoah_ ,” he’d taken a step and nearly pitched forwards, Blue snaking across the room to catch him on her shoulders.

            “You’ve done a _lot_ of healing today.” She shifted his weight a bit. “Let’s… let me do the walking for now.”

            He didn’t need much help getting settled into the harness, but it helped Keith feel better _to_ help, to have something to focus on. Especially because as soon as he looked up, he realized Volcanius was watching him again.

            He scooted ahead, leading the way down the tunnel, looking back just in time to see Pidge take up the back, looking preoccupied. One of her hands was in her pocket, and her other was gripping her staff tightly.


	24. The Temple

            The first thing Hunk was aware of was an absolutely _fantastic_ piece of pre-Arusian stonework over his head- crumbled in places, but with the unmistakable early Balmeran style of carvings showing strong past the wear of ages. They radiated out from the highest point of the ceiling like the rays of a star, to thick supporting structures that swept all the way down to the ground- and it was a _long_ ways down to where he was.

            Also, his back hurt in a way that implied he’d hit a stone floor at a decently high speed, which reminded him where his priorities were. He picked his way off of his landing point, looking around- weird that there wasn’t more rubble on the ground around him. Also weird there wasn’t that big of an opening in the roof given how much of the canyon floor had given away. And that neither Shiro nor big monster guy were anywhere to be seen, not that he was super cut up about the other guy, but, that was just the frosted sugar garnish on this pastry of mysteries.

            It was, in short, gonna be a long darn day.

            The one thing he did find was his staff- both pieces of it. “…Guess you just didn’t have it in you for monster fighting, huh.” He blinked misty eyes and stuck them in the waistband of his apron- maybe Pidge could fix them, like she did with the cart axle. If not, he guessed he could somehow find another ironwood tree- in the wrong climate, in the middle of nowhere, that people would be willing to cut down and make staffs out of, and wouldn’t stiff him for, and would lend him the tools to put the proper kind of carvings in-

            Don’t get overwhelmed. Deep breath, focus on what you can fix. _Always_ focus on what you can fix.

            He guessed this used to be an anteroom, or some sort of crossroad. Didn’t have an idol, didn’t have an obvious indication where one might have been before. Too pretty and spacious to be a storeroom, not with the mosaic on the floor. Good quality tile- the ceramics would be expensive in today’s market, let alone one as bygone as the style of the architecture looked. Small flecks of- not gold, but bright mica- suspended inside of the individual tiles to make them glitter in the light. Together, the painted an image of some valiant-looking man of a race Hunk didn’t recognize- small rounded ears atop the head, protruding tusks on the lower jaw. Green cosmetics- or natural marks, perhaps?- under his eyes. In the image he lay in gracious repose, arms gathered at his waist. Encircled around him were images of oxen, bowls of fruit, gold and precious stones, bales of wheat, weapons and artifacts of impressive make, each suspended in its individual circle, ringing the outside of the mosaic.

            Someone had clearly thought highly of him. And strange- there weren’t usually memorials in temples to Aurum, at least, none that he’d seen.

            He cupped his hands around his mouth, called: “Hello?” It echoed back to him- this was a _big_ temple, dang. Of course, if the acoustics were nice, it was vaguely worrying that he couldn’t hear particular evidence of anybody else being here.

            Who really shouldn’t have fallen that far away in the first place.

            He was pretty sure he’d had at least one nightmare about a scenario that wasn’t exactly like this, and had probably involved more strangely-colored chickens, but was too close to comfort regardless.

            There were halls in four directions branching off this one, each dark and empty. Of course- lamps needed oil, or power, and this temple wouldn’t have either, it was an ancient dead relic.

            “…Okay, if I was an ancient temple builder, which way would I…” it hit him. “Oh, duh, _west_. Western god.” He looked up at the halls. “Which super helps, because you can sure tell which way is west underground.” How did he even know these pointed along the cardinal directions? Did he-

            A flicker of light at the edge of one hall, a yellow sphere bobbing slowly up and down in place. Too fluid in its movements to be held by a hand, but not obviously held aloft by anything.

            “Oh. Okay. That’s convenient,” he commented to the still air, “and, not at all suspicious or creepy.” It was a nice statement, sufficiently cutting, one that helped him feel much better about just going ahead and following the weird ghost light like exactly the sort of chump he was trying not to be.

            The light swam ahead of him as he approached, drifting through passages and chambers alike. It seemed content both to keep its distance, and to match his pace- where it skirted too far ahead of him to see the floor, it paused just at the edge of his vision while he fished out a glow crystal and cracked it, holding it up so its paler light could spill over the ruins. Calling them ruins, admittedly, was not entirely accurate- it did not feel dead, not moldering softly in an earthen tomb. Fresh air brushed his face like the slightly labored sighs of a sleeping giant.

            That was not entirely reassuring. He’d talked to enough miners, known enough horror stories about cave-ins and entrapment of one form or another. And he had lit off an explosive on the spine of this giant- every breath the temple took could be the beginning of a collapse, crushing everything within. The weight and age of the stone around him pressed on his thoughts, even where he ran his hand along the wall, felt how neatly the individual bricks slotted into one another.

            Many of the rooms had mosaics just like the one he’d found, depicting various things. One hallway featured a group of five, evenly spaced- one was the man from before. Beside him- a tall, pale woman, her horned visage held aloft with great decorum. A merman, one of the ones from the distant islands across the ocean, his skin in blues and grays. An Altean- the crescents under his eyes and the sweep of his ears to elongate points made that clear, made Hunk reevaluate just how old this structure was. And beside him, a man in red and gold armor, a kingly brow crowned with a simple, jagged helm.

            There was something about those scarlet eyes, the way they peered down at Hunk from the passageway, that made his skin crawl. The other reliefs, their eyes were closed, heads bowed or lifted in some flavor of contemplation. Only the final man stared downwards, and it might have merely been the flickering of his guiding light, but the way the shadows played across the regal features made that stare seem… _cold_.

            The room beyond featured the five again, in profile, hands raised as if in supplication. Opposite them, an enormous woman in multicolored robes, her outstretched hand pointing to the earth, where a great, golden crevice had been torn. The silhouettes of large cats sprang from the crater, each crowned with a different symbol. One he recognized- the wavy ‘face’ that had been embossed on coins, painted over shrines- it was everywhere on the islands, not to mention on Lance’s foot. The five-pronged flame that had showed up on Keith’s hand was above another. The others were unfamiliar- one was unmistakably the shape of a tree, and another reminded him of an anchor, or perhaps the head of a spade.

            He was about to step closer for a better look- but an echo reached his ears- a voice from deeper in the temple.

            Hunk ran- a strap on his sandal tore, but he didn’t slow down, just kicked it off and kept going, pulling the head of his staff out of his apron- he could be half-armed, at least. The helpful glow that had led him this far followed at his heels like a large, clumsy firefly impersonating a dog, casting more light than the crystal in his other hand. As they rounded a bend together, the light skittered and flew ahead of him.

            He saw Shiro at the end of the corridor- wide-eyed, blood dripping from a large horizontal gash in his face that stretched cheekbone to cheekbone.

            And standing between them- the face obscured by a curtain of dark hair, some of it twisted loosely into braids that were almost more tangle than weaving, bowed shoulders wrapped in a tattered cloak-

            “…Shiro?”

            They flinched as one- the same movement, the one he knew jerking, eyes focusing on Hunk and the look of alarm on his face intensified. “Get out of here. _Run_!”

            Hunk took a step forwards.

            The stranger blocked him- raised an arm that Hunk thought at first was gauntleted, but realized a moment later was _made of stone_. It was the only thing about him that looked brand new- unmarred, a faint residue of dust clinging to it, but not enough to diminish the carvings that twisted and writhed beneath a perfect polished surface. Each finger joint as it flexed fit perfectly into its attached socket, uncurling with the faintest rasp of hidden metal fixtures. The fingertips were capped with steel claws.

            “Stay back,” and it was a ragged voice, just as worn as the rest of him, but it was still unmistakably…

            Shiro’s hand grabbed for a sword he didn’t have any longer, wringing itself angrily on empty air. “You _stay away from him_.” Gray eyes narrowed, creasing his cut nose. “It’s me you’re after.”

            A faint creak, the stranger inclining his head. “Are you going to get out of my way?”

            Shiro made fists. “No,” he said softly, “I don’t think so.”

            The stone hand curled, and then flourished once. The light from Hunk’s crystal guttered in a way that shouldn’t be possible, especially as a moment later it flared back to life as if nothing had happened.

            And the stranger was holding a sword, now- a hand-and-a-half whose black blade was mirror-smooth, embossed in the same intricate runes that covered his arm. He leveled it across the distance, raising his other hand to the grip. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

            Shiro’s jaw worked, studying the sword. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his stance, raising his fists.

            Oh no. Hunk looked between the sword, what was left of his staff, and their surroundings- neither of the latter two looked likely to win a fight against the former.

            The stranger rushed. Shiro fortuitously had his back to a larger chamber and withdrew into it when the sword swept down, biting into the stones easily. Hunk made up his mind, then- he wasn’t going to beat the sword but he didn’t need to.

            He just needed to beat the person _holding_ it.

            …Which was easier said than done, as the stranger followed Shiro easily into the room, making one large, swinging slice only to pivot gracefully on his feet and come back around with a thrust. For a guy who looked like he’d seen the bad end of a shipwreck, the guy sure could _move_.

            Shiro ducked, wove, and threw an armored fist to the jaw, actually getting the stranger to stumble back. He took that second to catch his breath, sweat rising on his brow. “What do you _want_? Why are you here?”

            The stranger wiped his cheek with the back of one hand, a glimpse of steel-colored eyes through his hair. “Same reason you are.”

            “That’s not an answer.” Shiro started to circle.

            “No,” the stranger flicked the sword with an easy motion. “And I don’t really want to give you one.”

            With their attention locked on each other, there was a straight shot up the aisle- this room looked like it had been a proper altar once, complete with the moldering bones of shattered pews. And there- on a shallow dais, a statue- sloping shoulders, a broad head with a wedge-shaped snout.

            The stone it was made of didn’t look like anything in this canyon- anything they would have hauled here from nearby.

            Probably.

            But “probably” would have to be good enough.

            Hunk ran for the altar. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shiro glance at him- too late try to dodge the sword another time, stumble over a strut of wood. The sword came down like an axe- and they were out of sight, a muffled sound that wasn’t a weapon biting flesh.

            The temple had breathed before- it _hummed_ now. The statue of the lion was larger than it had seemed before, even recumbent, its head was lofted well over Hunk’s- he put on a burst of speed, cleared the steps and jumped.

            There was no time to think of another course of action- he slammed his hand down on the stone lion’s head.

            The world erupted in gold, and a second later with a thundering _roar_. In the air, he caught a glimpse of Shiro, prosthetic arm raised protectively over his head, twisted towards the source of the sound- the stranger, hair blown back from his face to betray a look of unguarded surprise-

            Hunk hit the ground, hard, on his stomach.

            A whizzing noise, and then a distant, quiet _thunk_.

            Silence. Not _quite_ silence- there was the feeling of a thousand dust motes settling, and of a large animal breathing somewhere _right_ over Hunk’s head.

            He looked behind himself first- to Shiro sprawled flat on his back- groaning, sitting up. Beyond that, to the black sword, sunk point-down in the stones of the floor, the only evidence the stranger had even been there.

            With a decent suspicion of what he would find, Hunk looked forwards.

            Aurum shook himself, blonde hair flying with a faint glitter of precious beads. Massive forepaws, crowned with shovel-shaped talons flexed on the dais before he properly climbed to his feet. His hind legs ended in not paws, but hooves- the great head weighed once with curling horns and then again with the three-inch sabers protruding from his upper lip.

            Blearily, the god’s head swung from Shiro, then down to Hunk. “Good morning,” he rumbled. “I think I would like it very much if someone would explain what’s going on.”


	25. Aurum

            “Whoa. You’re… big,” was the first sentence Hunk assembled, which was not his proudest moment.

            Eyes like molten gold crinkled upwards in an expression more like a proud grandparent’s than really had any business being on the face of a lion. “I am. And you’ve just woke me up.” He bowed, stretching his forelimbs, flexing the paws in a way that separated each individual claw and demonstrated their length and sharpness more clearly than Hunk really was comfortable with. “Oh, it’s good to have some life in these old bones again. Death doesn’t suit me.”

            Hunk scrambled to his feet. “Wait- you were _dead_?”

            With the both of them standing, Aurum’s head hung about on level with his eyes. “A ceaseless sleep is a death of sorts. Even with dreams to keep the mind company, it’s a pale thing, compared to full and proper life.”

            As if he hadn’t said particularly much, the god stepped off of the dais. “Now, then. I’ve got a good sense of you, boy, but who’s this you’ve brought with you?”

            “Shiro!” Right- Hunk scooted over, remembering the cut on Shiro’s face- what did he have on hand? He had the satchel- grabbed it from his shoulder, breathed a small sigh of relief- didn’t look like anything was cracked from the fall- had already selected something to clean the wound, “Hang on, buddy, I’ve got-”

            “Hunk,” Shiro eased upright a bit cautiously. “I’m okay. He just got this,” and he held up the prosthetic, where it had been scored deeply, two of the cables in its interior severed, leaving the last two fingers dangling limply.

            Shiro’s face wasn’t cut. Wasn’t even smeared with blood- no droplets on his armor, no… _nothing_. Like nothing had been there at all- except, looking closely, the faintest, pale notch in the bridge of his nose. An old mark. One that had probably been there all along and Hunk simply hadn’t looked for it.

            The stranger’s face had been almost exactly Shiro’s. But he’d had a scar there- a long one that stretched from one side of his face to the other. A scar _much_ more like the wound Hunk had seen open on Shiro’s face, the one that was nowhere to be seen.

            Shiro met his eyes, hesitated, and then looked away, brows drawing together.

            Hunk sighed. “Man, now _I_ don’t know what’s going on.” He peered at the fallen sword. “What happened to that… other guy?”

            “Hmm? Oh, that young rascal.” A huff escaped the god. “Didn’t quite like the feel of him, so I shooed him outside for a bit to cool his head. He’s quite unharmed, don’t worry.”

            A pause, Shiro overcoming whatever private shame had seized him. “You… moved him out of the temple?”

            “It is my bastion, is it not? I decide what comes and goes.” Aurum lifted his head, up out of Hunk’s range of vision, and swept it side to side. “Ah, lovely. A thoughtfully built place. You’ve all taken such good care of me.” A pause, his gaze lowering to linger, meaningfully, on Hunk. “High time I returned the favor, then.” Just as quickly, he looked to Shiro. “Well, then, I expect you didn’t go through all the trouble just to hear an old man prattle.” The glinted eyes crinkled again. “You’ve a request, or several, I imagine.”

            “Right-” Hunk spoke up quickly. “There’s some kinda weird monster guy with a hook hand we had to take out, and our friends might be in trouble. Can you get us out of here? Preferably fast?”

            An echo, a feeling, a murmur in the air, faint and soft and simultaneously with an incredible sense of _pressure_ \- as if something grand and very, very heavy had slid obligingly into place more smoothly and politely than it had any business doing. Aurum lowered his belly to the ground. “I think I can do that. Climb up, would you? Hold the horns, now- there’s a good lad, don’t want you pulling my mane out trying to stay on.” A throaty huff that approximated a laugh. “Bit fond of the thing, you know.”

            Shiro was walking towards them, having picked up the black sword and trying to fit it into his empty scabbard. It slid together surprisingly well, and he left it hanging from his side as he wordlessly accepted Hunk’s help up onto Aurum’s back.

            Aurum stood- and then braced himself, tensing with an expectation that seemed to tremble not only in his body, but in the ground underneath him.

            Hunk was treated to a brief second to question the logic of asking a god to get you somewhere _fast_ without a modifier like ‘comfortably’, and then Aurum _launched_ forwards.

* * *

 

            He woke up to star-studded skies and a distinct spot of familiar silver hair.

            With a grunt, Shiro sat up, taking the pressure off his slightly crumpled wings. They could be straightened out fairly easily with a few experimental shakes before settling back into place, albeit at the cost of twice as many feathers as usual. Oh well. They always seemed to have enough left for his purposes.

            He did not look up at Lotor, flexing his hand in the air and trying to call the sword back to him. Faintly, he could feel it had been left in the temple.

            It didn’t move.

            He frowned, tried again.

            “Yes,” Lotor said very dryly, “that’s sometimes the consequence of getting so close to someone you share a soul with. I don’t expect it’s going to return anytime soon.”

            “That’s not how that _works_.”

            “Sorry, I wasn’t aware you were an expert on the deep magic.” There was a bite to the galra’s tone. He was balanced on a precipice, forearms resting on his knees, in as close as he came to a human form but perched very much like a magpie regardless. Slender brows furrowing, he let out a breath, and then resumed. “The black blade has taken a liking to your other. As has both the god that dwelled here and the one Sendak captured. In that interest, unless you’d rather surrender to them and explain yourselves, we should _leave_.”

            He looked over the edge of the canyon, down to what remained of its floor. A golden beast sprung from the earth, landed smoothly- two dismounted from its back, one considerably shakier than the other. A party came out of the cave to meet them, two larger shapes in their wake as well. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

            A pause. He could imagine the look on Lotor’s face without actually glancing back to see it. “I’ll keep my concerns to myself the day you start taking adequate means to protect yourself.”

            “I’m a dead man anyway.” He started his path up the canyon. “There’s not much left to protect.”

            “That doesn’t make you invincible, and you know it.”

            He might have said something back, but saved his breath for climbing.

* * *

 

            “Hunk! You’re not dead!” Lance was beaming as he slid from Blue’s back and ran over.

            “Physically, no.” Hunk shifted higher from where he was leaning against the canyon wall, having emptied most of his stomach into a small, hardy piece of highlands shrubbery that hadn’t remotely deserved it. “The question is, at what cost.”

            Aurum chortled. “You’ll find your riding legs yet, dear boy. That wasn’t bad for your first time.”

            “Ugh, you sound like my aunt.” He moved away from the mess, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. “Except, y’know, a god, I guess.”

            Blue had come up on Lance’s other side. “You’re looking well, Aurum.”

            “Aquaria! Wonderful to see you again.” Aurum pressed his forehead against hers, rubbing against her cheek. “And is that Volcanius?” Something of the god’s exuberance faded a bit. “…You’ve had a rough time of it.”

            “So I’ve been reminded.” The other god had lingered back. Dry as his tone was, Hunk had to agree with Aurum, having never laid eyes on Volcanius before- a dull, russet-colored coat clung unhealthily close to his ribs and those shining eyes were set under dark shadows. They narrowed as the god lifted his head, scenting the air with a half-open mouth. “We’re not alone. A few are fleeing, above us. More people in the caves. And…”

            A cold hand patted Hunk’s thigh suddenly. When he startled, its owner leaped back with a bell-like chirp.

            It was proportioned a bit like a child’s plush toy, conical arms hanging well to its dainty knees, and yet it was definitely not any sort of toy- it was made of pale ceramic, a shallow metal dish set into the front of its round head to form a rudimentary face. In the center of that dish wavered something that burned with a clear, emerald green fire, creating a single bright slit of light like an overlarge eye.

            It was about as large, and as intimidating as a toddler, which made Hunk reconsider how far he’d moved away from it. (That, and the fact that he had backed into and nearly on top of Lance, who was evidently a little wobbly-legged)

            Shiro’s expression brightened visibly at the sight of the thing. “Hey, Beezer.”

            Pidge had scooted forwards from where she seemed to have been lingering well behind the rest of the cave party, raising her eyebrows. “Oh, wow, is that a construct?”

            He’d heard a bit about them, but if the look on Keith’s face was any indication, the latter hadn’t. “A what?”

            “They’re artificial people, basically. It’s really interesting, the technology was developed trying to imitate the legends of homunculi, but since obviously nobody’s been able to _rediscover_ the formula for homunculi, in the year 308 M.F. Gail Thundercallow made a breakthrough approach it from a mechanical perspective rather than an alchemical one, and came up with these guys. You see a lot of ‘em around court, but they’re bigger and more decorated than this little guy.” Pidge crouched, sticking out a hand to the porcelain creature like she was trying to coax a dog over. “Where’d he come from?”

            “With us, actually,” Shiro smiled as the construct ventured cautiously closer to Pidge, gathering stubby fingered hands in front of its chest before it reached out towards her. “Rolo knew him the longest, so they stick together. Not what we usually look for in the Order, but, he’s gotten us out of a lot of trouble in the past. Rolo sent him ahead to get the townspeople to safety, so…” he directed this next question to Beezer itself. “Are they close by?”

            Beezer hopped in place, letting of an entire cascade of ringing sounds, before dashing off, leaving a faintly forlorn-looking Pidge in its wake. Shiro nodded severely, then watched it go, for a moment silent.

            Hunk glanced at him. “Uh, what did he say?”

            Gray eyes flickered in his direction, and a smile ghosted across Shiro’s features. “I have no idea.”

            If Shiro hadn’t just been attacked by first a giant monster and then his evil twin, Hunk would’ve punched him then and there. The intent bled through to his face, obviously, since Shiro actually mustered a laugh. “I’m serious. I’ve known him for a year, and I’m not even sure all of those noises correspond to words. He makes sure we know what he means anyway.”

            A high, keening cry split the air- Plachu, back in the form of a white bird, circling overhead, almost glowing against the night. With much shuffling and murmuring, people began to venture out of the caves on either side of the ravine. Somewhere in the crowd, Hunk could make out the lavender-complected knight, leaning on his blonde associate as she supported him along.

            Some of the townspeople shied short of the three gods standing there- others gathered slowly around Aurum, cautiously reaching out to sink a hand in his fur. Blue, too, was a center of attention, Lance almost disappearing in the crowd. Volcanius lingered back, out of sight in the shadows, watching Keith who did much of the same.

            Plachu swooped from the skies, settled on Shiro’s arm as he raised it to accommodate the bird.

            Shiro dipped his head a bit apologetically towards the empty clasp hanging from Plachu’s leg. “Right.” He smiled grimly at Hunk. “I get to condense all of this into a report.”

            “Can it wait until morning?” A weary voice- Lance, half-draped across Blue’s back as the latter disentangled from her admirers to rejoin them. “I dunno about you guys but it’s the middle of the night and it’s been a _really_ long day.”

            Shiro reached over to ruffle his hair. “Hang in there a little longer. We have to get everybody back to town, first.”

            Lance groaned, burying his face in Blue’s ruff.


	26. Foundations

            They ended up staying in Charon for a few days.

            The villagers had a lot of rebuilding to do, and they also insisted on the opportunity to show their saviors proper gratitude- which had turned into an all-out festival. The gods were the main attractions, obviously- you couldn’t turn a corner without watching Aurum bowing his head to let giggling children swing from his horns, or a nervous young couple approaching Aquaria, holding out their baby for divine blessing. Shiro, too, was buried in attention, when he wasn’t working.

            None of them seemed uncomfortable. Keith guessed they were used to this- the ceremony and adulation, the being special, being adored.

             He stayed clear of it all. He wasn’t sure who would remember the one galra that hadn’t left their midst, and didn’t really want to test it. They didn’t come looking for him, but they didn’t shy away from him more than usual, which left him partially relieved, but mostly not sure what to think.

            He’d learned how to use a glamour when he was still a child. By the time his father had caught the epidemic he’d been trying to treat, Keith had been able to keep himself steady- no flickers of gold in his eyes, no mulberry colors creeping in around the knuckles when he lost his patience- no matter what else was going on. Only his teeth stayed at stubborn points, resisting the magical second skin, and that could be managed. Even that got easy.

            He’d never been so exposed as to not have it at _all_. Not since he was a baby, and it felt… indecent. Like he’d been naked in front of a bunch of strangers, twice in one day.

            Lance, Hunk, and Pidge were the worst. As it crept up on a whole week of knowing them, he’d really, earnestly wanted this to work out. And now he had no idea what they were feeling. He caught glimpses of them through the crowd- mostly Lance, lapping up attention like a cat that got into the cream, Hunk lending helping hands, or swapping recipes with people. Pidge was a bit more seldom-seen, evidently not liking so much of the crowd, but even now and then she could be coaxed out of her shell, used books or mulling over travel supplies.

            Shiro had sought him out, after the first day, talked to him about it- said a bunch of reassuring things Keith wasn’t sure he believed, but it was nice. It reminded him of the Shiro he knew, which had been another tangle of feelings, especially once they’d heard about what happened in the temple.

            Why didn’t Shiro trust his double? As best as Keith could tell, they were the same sort of people. He liked this Shiro, much as it felt like a small betrayal to admit it.

            With a sigh, he extracted himself from his borrowed quilt. One of the three that had helped him out- the man with the mustache, Mr. Colston- had insisted on putting them up in his own house while the wagon was undergoing repairs and refitting. Pidge’s patch job with the axle had evidently not held entirely, and it had taken other damage from the crash.

            Keith had been given the attic to himself, and he’d discovered a while ago that he could climb out the small window onto the roof, as he did now.

            A dull red shadow perched by the chimney grunted softly at him, and then went back to staring over the rooftops.

            For a moment, Keith froze, heart hammering in his throat. He hadn’t seen so much as hide or hair of Volcanius since they’d returned to town. And yet, here he was, overlong tail draped over the edge, vivid eyes half-lidded.

            “Noisy,” Volcanius grunted, in answer to a question Keith hadn’t asked. “I don’t mind the sun, but the crowds are a nuisance.” His chin lowered on his crossed forelimbs. “Here for a similar reason, aren’t you?”

            It was an invitation of sorts, and Keith eased the rest of the way onto the roof. They watched Lance pass in the street below, in a gaggle of village girls, talking and gesturing animatedly. Snatches of words drifted up to them- a peal of laughter.

            “That much attention usually goes bad for me.”

            Volcanius’s tail made a lazy pass across the shingles, the fine, dense-knit hairs practically sweeping its surface. “It would explain why you so determinedly wear a face that isn’t your own.”

            It was true, he guessed, but he resented putting it like that. With pale skin and rounded ears he looked more like his father- like the parent he’d _remembered_. The one that had always had a smile, who’d always helped- who’d actually _been_ there for him.

            “Well, what about you? Maybe that- Sendak guy, wouldn’t have found you if you were hiding.”

            As soon as it cleared his mouth, he was sure Volcanius would- swat him off the roof, at a minimum. Burn him to ashes where he sat maybe, the way he’d threatened to back in the caves.

            Instead, a long, tired sigh dragged itself out of the god, and that was actually worse.

            “…I’m sorry. That wasn’t-”

            “Few things in the world are fair, child. Justice is far too often something we willfully toil to shape.” Volcanius climbed to his feet, working through himself muscle by muscle. Here, in better lighting at last, Keith understood the mess of bone and webbing that formed Volcanius’s front limbs- they were _wings_ , folded up against the line of his elbows so that he walked on a joint capped with a matching pair of hooked spurs. “And there is truth to what you say. Your trick is not one I cannot emulate under my own power. But I did not.”

            “…Why not?”

            This time, when the burning eyes looked towards them, they didn’t seem so threatening. They made Keith remember a distant afternoon spent in a marketplace, watching an artisan work molten glass into elaborate shapes while his father had been busy with the sort of things they needed and could afford. The god’s eyes were the color of that heated glass, not one shade but reds, oranges, golds curled together.

            With a grunt, Volcanius paced a tight circle on the roof and then settled himself into a ball. “Call it sentimentality.”

            He seemed to doze off, then, or at least he didn’t want to say any more on the subject.

~~

            It was on the third day that Aurum led him out of town, and Hunk wasn’t really sure why, or how. An understated itch under one foot, a faint sense of restlessness or just the general feeling that something was out there, to find the god inside the mines.

            He hadn’t picked the same section Blue had, but down a creaking elevator, at the end of a heavily fortified shaft. It was a ways in, but despite Hunk having seen neither whisker nor hair of the god, he wasn’t surprised at all to reach the cavern and see Aurum there.

            That was just something to get used to, he supposed.

            Aurum’s eyes were bright in the darkness. “Do you know why you are here?”

            “We’ve gotta do the same thing Lance did with Blue, right? That…” He tried to string words to describe what had happened to Lance at the lake. It didn’t help that he’d been stressed at the time, not paying it all of his attention (but how much of an excuse was that? He was stressed a lot). “Bonding thing.”

            Aurum waited.

            He thought about the people of Charon that they’d helped out of the valley, how some of them were hurt, some too tired to stand. Some had been bruised and struck with the butts of crossbows, or the hilts of swords. Some had even seen _blades_ turned against them. Families reunited, kids that ran sobbing into their parents’ arms and others who put a brave face up because they were tough mountain people, but this was more than just toughness.

            “What’s happening isn’t gonna stop on its own, is it? This Sendak guy- we didn’t stop him. We got you out, and Volcanius, but he got away with everything else, and who knows who he’s working for. And- normally I’d love to say, sure, leave that to knights, that’s their job, but…” He looked at the god again, carefully. “There’s something about us, isn’t there? We’re in a position to help. There’s something we can do that you can’t, and the knights can’t.”

            “Not alone.”

            Aurum lifted his head to the cavern ceiling, expression turning thoughtful. “We’ve lived on this planet since it was first crafted by the Goddess’s hand. Suffice to say, that was quite a long time ago.” A bit of a chuckle escaped him, lips curling around his sabers. “However, it was only very recently, with the dawn of sapience on this planet- the children of the vast seas and open fields, of the high mountains and deep caverns, and most particularly the proud people of the moon, that we felt called to become more than we were, to live in a way we had not before.”

            “We chose, in effect, to walk among them, with our feet to the earth and our head to the sky as they did. To become, in one way, limited in magnitude, but to open an understanding we could never have otherwise, that we might be the protectors of this many-colored earth. But to achieve that, to live as mortal creatures did, we required mortal creatures’ aid.”

            Hunk eased, cross-legged, to a sitting position. “So that’s where we come in, right?”

            “You, and your predecessors before you. Gyrgan. Blaytz. Trigel. Alfor. Through countless trials, they stood by our sides, and we by theirs, and forged a connection that shaped the path of the future.” For a moment, the god’s head bowed. “For better… and for worse.”

            “For worse? Weren’t you helping people?”

            “We made mistakes. We were young and arrogant. Perhaps not young by your standards, but new to mortality as you experienced it. But now, once again, our duty is clear. We must act, but act with understanding. And that is what I would ask of you, child of a distant island. Will you lend to me your heart and mind, that they might guide me? Will you fight by my side?”

            There was a magnitude to the question that made him hesitate, feeling the weight of those words almost as if he did the weight of the cliff above his head. And yet, the more he thought about it, the more he realized. Without knowing the question, he’d pieced together most of the answer just in the time he’d spent in Charon.

            “I will.”

            “Then I will do the same.”

            For all of how dramatic it had looked from the outside, actually feeling the bond was mostly a sense of softness, and warmth. He felt the light move more than he saw it, felt it trace patterns up one leg and down the other. What was far more interesting was what he _saw_ \- the cavern floor dropped away, and instead he looked down through the layers, saw veins of metal, and far, far below, magma.

            “The first stones of this planet were forged in fire. But it was only as they cooled that they became a thing that could build mountains and continents. In this, they found a tenacity to endure the ages. The basalt and granite forged when the world was young yet linger, yet hold.”

            A thousand blazing points of life, flickering, glowing ghosts.

            “Life is a fleeting thing, comparatively. But it possesses great strength- the strength to impress itself into the unyielding hearts of stone. In doing so, it is rendered immortal- it shall not be forgotten.”

            Fossils. They were fossils- fossils like he remembered his nephew holding out to him, bright-eyed and looking for approval. It had been a warm day, the humidity kept at bay after a storm had gone through and swept the beach, and it had exposed that shape, a spiral cast in stone, an echo of something long gone. His mother had set it on the mantelpiece, and it had remained there until the day he left, promised to write when he could.

            Since then, he’d seen- cliffs and canyons, valleys carved by ancient glaciers, boulders and scarlet-striped iron sides, but they weren’t the mountains of the big island, not the one he could see from his window at home, the one whose slopes, when the earth was calm and the seers said they’d nothing to fear, they’d climbed now and then, had a picnic overlooking the city and the jungles like the way they’d done for their last meal together.

            _The sea’s our mother and our cradle, but the mountain’s our home_ , and that was his uncle’s words. _It’s in our bones, and bones don’t lie to you._ He remembered his uncle’s strong, deft fingers, plucking a stone from the ground, turning it in the light so its flecks glimmered. It was smooth, even, turned once in his fingers before he handed it over to Hunk. _Here. Take some of it with you._

            Hunk put a hand in his apron pocket, found the worry stone. It was warm under his fingers, nearly hot.

            “We remember the fire that forged us, and we remember the lives that have touched ours. We may fall cold, dormant, unyielding, but it is the warmth of our hearts that beats onwards. That is our art, and that is our burden.” Aurum, too, like the earth around him, was threaded with veins- old scars, old wounds. Something that twisted and knotted through his body- a connection, a bond, something like what now blazed to life and light between them.

            He remembered the man depicted in the temple, the one with the green paint under his eyes.

            _Gyrgan_.

            His _predecessor_ , Aurum had said.

            The mark of him still lay on Aurum’s body, what remained of that connection, long after the man himself was gone.

            What he did, now, would that leave a mark of equal permanence? Was that what this was- him, mortal, alive, _ordinary_ as he’d always considered himself- placing something of himself into a god- a handprint against those bones that would remain, long beyond him?

            It was strangely comforting.


	27. Snakeskin

            “Where were you?” Lance wanted to know. “I looked all over.”

            “Oh- uh, y’know. Cave stuff.”

            Blue’s ears perked upright. “Ah. Aurum’s taken you into his fold properly, then.”

            “What?” Lance looked a lot more excited than Hunk felt. “That’s AWESOME!”

            “How’s it feel?” Pidge wanted to know.

            That was… a good question, actually. “I guess right now I don’t feel any different. I dunno if it’s… _supposed_ to feel different.”

            “Oh, Hunk. Good to see you.” There was Shiro, a large, unfamiliar eagle perched on his arm. In his other hand, he had a letter. “The queen got back to me faster than I expected. We have orders to head south to Leos, as soon as possible. Someone’s going to meet us halfway- I’d guess a barrier mage, since we lost ours during the attack, and Rolo’s not cut out for that on his own.”

            “So we’re losing you already.” Hunk jumped a little- he hadn’t even realized Keith was in the room, considering the guy had made himself pretty scarce in the last few days, and yet there he was, leaning against a wall and nearly invisible behind a few stacked barrels.

            A small smile from Shiro. “Not exactly _losing_ me.” He lifted the letter- Hunk couldn’t read the elegant loops of cursive from here, but he could tell it was expensive paper, with a deep blue silk ribbon dangling from the back of it. “I mentioned you in my report. Her Majesty wants to meet you- all of you. It’s quite an honor.”

            It was interesting how the room shifted. Lance beamed like- well, he’d just been told he was meeting the Queen of Arus. Hunk wasn’t sure if it was the implication of special treatment- or because people tended to talk about how lovely the young queen supposedly was. He’d guess a combination of the two.

            Keith looked like he was trying to make his chosen corner eat him, but trying to downplay it at the same time. No surprise there either- it hadn’t taken more than the few days and odd near-death-rescue-situation he’d known the guy to figure out Keith hated attention and attention from important people was probably worse.

            Blue was pretty hard to read- well, she was a lion. God. Lion god. She seemed peaceful about the idea, at least- probably met a lot of rulers in her time.

            As for himself, he had the usual sense of vague unease that came with meeting important people, like trying to mentally sort out his laundry rotation so he could at least greet Her Royal Majesty in clothing that had been _fairly_ recently washed. Did the royal guards have spares so nobody embarrassed the queen with their road dust?

            Pidge, though- Pidge looked ready to fight someone. “What about the tower? We can’t just _leave_ it there!”

            A blink moved palpably through the room. Lance was the first to speak up. “Pidge… we were gonna leave the tower _anyway_. That prince whatshisface told us it’s too guarded, right?”

            “And you’re just gonna give _up_ , like that? It could be a trick.”

            Keith bristled at that, surprisingly. “Volcanius _said_ he was telling the truth.”

            Well, that mostly made sense. He’d heard only secondhand about the whole, creepy guy hiding inside a cat, thing, but Volcanius _was_ the god of divination, so he’d _know_ , wouldn’t he? Unless… “…Yeah but Sendak had to have been able to get the drop on him _somehow_ , so… I guess that means there’s stuff Volcanius doesn’t know? Like- how does this truth telling thing even work- wait. Is it blasphemy to ask that? Oh man. Oh I don’t wanna get smote by a god over blasphemy.” He glanced at the timbers over his head, which were sturdy, and reassuringly not on fire. “I didn’t mean it!”

            The room was tense. In the center of it was Keith, who’d stepped out of his corner, and Pidge, who was matching him stare for stare.

            “You were _there_.” Hunk had to admit, without the scarf on, Keith actually _was_ kind of intimidating- the mouth full of fangs did that, especially the way his lip wrinkled reminded Hunk a little too much of a snarling animal. “You said it _yourself_ , we _can’t_ bust in.”

            “I’m not _going_ to bust in. If it’s too guarded to attack-”

            “ _Katie_.”

            The addressee didn’t move, but everyone else in the room jumped. Pidge merely turned her head, staring darkly up at Shiro.

            His expression softened fractionally. “I know what it means to be this close. But the truth is, there’s not even a guarantee Sir Holt is at that tower. We need to regroup, and the Queen needs to know about this. We have to focus on what we can do _right now_ , and-” his voice caught, momentarily, something passing behind the steel of his eyes. “-trust, that the people we care about are strong enough to hold on until we can get there.”

            “No!” Pidge’s body pulled bowstring tight. “I’m not going to wait for the castle to tell me my dad’s a lost cause _again_ while you guys have some big stupid _meeting_!”

            And she tore out of the room, nearly careening into Hunk as she passed. Her footsteps faded away down the street.

            Shiro sighed, heavily, and settled into a chair. A chubby blonde-haired mouse crept back out from under a barrel and jumped onto the table, where it turned back into the eagle from before, flapping its wings lightly before it settled into place.

            “Should we go after her?” Lance looked worried.

            Blue came up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Let’s give her some time to calm down. I expect confronting her now will only make her feel worse.”

            “…Right.” Shiro set the letter down- his fingers had crumpled the parchment, and, discovering that, he remorsefully made to smooth it back out again. “She’s a smart girl. Everything we have to say about it… she knows already. It’s just… hard for her to take it. Give her time, and, finish any business you have in town. We should be ready to leave by tomorrow morning.”

            He looked meaningfully at Keith as he spoke.

* * *

 

            Maybe Charon had gotten used to them during the time they spent there, maybe everybody here just didn’t scare easy, but, one reason or another, nobody stopped her on her way out of town. Once she got to the cliff roads, close to the mine, the crowds thinned, eventually down to only two or three people she could shoulder past in an instant.

            She kept going until she made it back to the gorge. It was easier, faster, than it had been the cautious climb before, when they’d been going this way to rescue Keith.

            She wasn’t going to think about Keith. He was stupid, they were all stupid, she didn’t need the help they weren’t going to give her.

            Pidge pulled the piece of snakeskin out of her pocket.

            Hearing what Volcanius had said about it had given her an idea, and it had paid off. Feeding it just a spark of power now and then hadn’t just prevented it from crumbling, but it had unfolded. Now it was pearly white, gleaming brightly in the sun. It shifted in the breeze- she closed her fingers tight on it before it could get away from her.

            She faced the gorge, faced the bridge where the monster had stood, and looked beyond it to the tower.

            It was blue in the distance, a faint shadow, one that twisted up from the ground more like some awful twisting bramble than any of the towers she saw. Three, four- five outer shapes that spiraled around the center. They were probably stone, with how big they were, but carved like living things, stretching up far beyond the core of the structure.

            Holding the snakeskin, she called the name. Felt it past her lips, somehow _richer_ than a normal word, thicker, syrupy on the tongue and yet the whole of it made her feel sharper, more alive.

            He came, slowly, lazily on the warm currents. Pretending to be a vulture like the kind that live around these parts, but he came straight towards her, settled down and landed on one of the crumbling pillars, tucked his head in his wing to preen feathers that weren’t real, and, then, somehow, at some point, a bundle of feathers simply tumbled away, and there he was. In the sunlight, his hair was nearly as bright as the scales in her hand.

            “You called,” he said, softly, in a tone she couldn’t tell if it was intrigued or irritated.

            “I did, and you’re gonna help me.”

            The vertical slits of his eyes drew just a bit tighter. “Am I, now.”

            It scared her, but that was what it was supposed to do. She tightened her grip on the skin. “You can’t refuse.”

            A second stretched. Another. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and see if anybody had come up the path, if anybody was trying to come and stop her. She didn’t really want to take her eyes off the so-called prince, not for a second.

            He slid from the perch easily, and sunk to a knee, drawing his hand grandly across his chest. It was a dramatic gesture, a fanciful one, and as soon as he lifted his head even slightly the glint of those ice-colored eyes caught her again.

            “Then, to the person who so graciously called my name…”

            He straightened, looking quite a ways down at her.

            “How may I be of service?”


	28. Trouble

            Pidge didn’t come back after an hour. She was gone for long enough that the conciliatory fresh apple tart Lance had bought her to make up for the whole thing had gone cold in his fingers, and, yet, he couldn’t quite bring himself to shrug it off and eat the thing himself.

            He wouldn’t say it was unlike Pidge to sulk. He wouldn’t even say it was unlike her to spend a _long_ time sulking- when she was upset she wanted to make sure whoever spurned her felt good and sorry about it.

            He wondered if any of the powers Blue had given him had something to heat this thing up again. Or maybe just to make his feet less sore- even wearing the boots he saved for cold weather he had to accept that pacing around town this much was starting to wear at him.

            At least it’d been a while since she’d bothered to put a disguise on- he checked the cart, took stock of wigs, creams, fake noses- she hadn’t unpacked, but hadn’t taken it with her either. So she had to be somewhere close.

            He finally tied up the tart in a napkin and stuck it in his bag, turning to go make one more pass through town when he nearly walked into Blue.

            “Something’s wrong.” It was one of those times that she asked a question without actually asking one.

            “…Yeah. I can’t find Pidge since that argument.” He looked at her before she even opened her mouth. “I _know_ we were gonna leave it, but- you know how she is. I don’t even want to talk to her about it; just… wanted to do something nice. I mean-” he gestured. “We had no idea about this whole thing with her dad and her brother, and now we’ve gotta go- I mean- I’d be mad too! If I had a sibling in trouble and someone told me I had to just ditch her-”

            “I understand.” Blue turned. “Unfortunately, there’s only so much I can help. This town is full of life- it won’t be so easy to single out just one presence. Volcanius, better than I, perhaps-”

            “Then we go ask him. He and Keith have to have done the pact thing by now, right?”

            “No.”

            Keith was sitting on a box in the shadow of the cart, wedged between other supplies they were going to load onto it shortly. At first, Lance wasn’t sure why he was so hidden- a closer look revealed that it wasn’t just the shadows that cast his skin that particular shade of violet. His stormy-colored eyes were edged on either side with gold, not blue- it flickered as he looked away. “He hasn’t said anything.”

            “…Oh.” Lance shuffled a little closer, thumbs hooked in his sash. “So, uh, is that why you’re-”

            “ _No_ ,” Keith snapped, a clawed foot curling on the box.

            They lapsed into uneasy silence, Lance still taking in the unusual appearance. Keith had been like this before, sure, but it wasn’t as if he’d _explained_ much. He’d said his dad was human, so, that made him… part galra, Lance guessed? It kind of made sense- the galra at the gorge had been taller, and just all around… sharper. Keith still looked… well, basically just like Keith. Not that scary.

            Lance’s mind returned to teasing the thread of Pidge’s whereabouts. Maybe there was something Volcanius could do without the pact- Blue’d called lightning without _his_ help, so-

            “Sorry.”

            Lance blinked, train of thought abruptly fleeing over the hills. “What?”

            Keith shifted, pointed eartips visible through the curtain of his hair. “Sorry I wasn’t honest with you.”

            “Hey, look. I get it. I don’t walk around showing everybody my gills.”

            “That’s not the same thing.” He settled a bit further into his sulk. “Mer are _normal_.”

            “Not up here they aren’t. Veronica used to write me, before I came up here myself. People get weird about stuff that they’re not used to.” He stuck a thumb over his shoulder. “The whole circus thing was Blue’s idea just so I had an excuse to go around with a lion and we _still_ got ogled in every town.”

            “This is true,” the god offered, before shifting her attention to Keith. “And I do have a few concerns of my own about your parentage, but, far fewer of them than you might expect are about the quality of your character. And they are not urgent.”

            That seemed to catch Keith’s attention at least enough to sit up. There was a shimmer like a heat mirage, and he was back to- well, it probably wasn’t normal. Back to the way he usually looked, at least. “Where have you looked so far?”

            For- oh. For Pidge. “All over town. Nobody’s seen her.”

            “Maybe she’s not in town, then?” Keith mulled that over. A moment later, his eyes widened. “You… don’t think she went to the tower, do you? Since that was what she was mad about.”

            “The tower?” Hunk had come up behind them, setting a heavy satchel down on the box next to Keith. “You mean the one that super fishy guy said was totally inaccessible? You think Pidge, went there, alone? After she heard him say we couldn’t take it on with _the literal god of the sea on our side_? C’mon, she’s not-” a pause. “I mean-” his eyes widened. “…Oh no.”

~~

            The landscape whipped by far below, getting rockier as it went. Her fingers, buried in a coat of feathers, were still cold, the thin air biting at her teeth and tongue when she drew breath.

            A languid tilt of a beaked head, and the vivid blue eye of a giant vulture regarded her idly. Pidge met that gaze with a pointed glare, and tightened her grip, not caring if she risked pulling something. He wanted her to chicken out. She wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. She called him- he had to help. And she wasn’t about to let that go.

            Up ahead, the tower was still a ways out. Risking another look back down, she frowned. Shouldn’t there be settlements around it? Structures, a fortified camp? Here, the landscape alternated between high plateaus and slot canyons, none of it with any evidence of habituation. Not even a single scrap of greenery or water like she’d expect from somewhere people were living. Now and then, the bones of a dead tree protruded. As the land grew rougher, began to build peaks, there wasn’t even snow.

            _Enjoying the scenery_?

            She jumped- drew sharp breath to say something back, and nearly choked on the wind.

            The vulture’s eye crinkled in very human amusement. _Do try not to injure yourself. This is simply an easier way to speak._

            Leaning forwards until she was nearly lying horizontally across his shoulders, she found a modest break for the wind. “Good for you, _I_ can’t do that.”

            _Really_? He banked easily, drawing along the broadside of a mountain too tall to interrupt. _That’s surprising. You certainly seem powerful enough_.

            He was trying to get a rise out of her. She grimaced, and hunkered tighter into the feathered ruff around his head. It was very, _very_ unlike riding a horse- the times Hunk had let her take Della out, or her own horse at home, bounding through the woods, finding places to practice her lessons or gather mushrooms- anything to get away from the castle, even if it meant bugs.

            She blinked rapidly, but didn’t free a hand to wipe her eyes. Stupid wind. “Are we there yet?”

            To her surprise, he pulled into a dive, fanning his wings to coast right alongside the surface of the plateau before banking and landing. As soon as she’d climbed down from his back, he stood up, looking again like a galra. The shed skin decayed immediately- he wasn’t giving her any chances to harvest more. “The tower’s fortifications make it impossible to move any closer from the air. We proceed on foot.”

            It was still far in the distance- though Pidge had to gape at how _huge_ it was. It had to be five times the size of the entire Castle of Lions, from the outermost moat to the center keep- just one massive, twisting pillar of- stone? Metal?- soaring so far over head its crown disappeared into the clouds.

            She caught Lotor eyeing her, his mouth curved in a small smile, and realized she was shivering. Rubbing her arms furiously, she snapped “it’s _cold_.”

            There was again that moment of oddness, a larger shape blooming within a nearly human one with the crackle of impossibly dry, bloodless tearing hide. White fur flowered in the tears, and when he shook his head free, it was large, crowned with a dense mane. “Then,” he said amiably, as if this entire thing took very little effort, coiling a lion’s lips around spoken words, “perhaps we should get inside, shouldn’t we?”

* * *

            “How could she possibly move that quickly?”

            Shiro had a good question, and Lance could feel the shuffle go through the area as they realized they hadn’t thought of that. Their gathering was, by now, preceded by two gods, Aurum lying down, Blue perched more anxiously atop a box.

            He didn’t take advantage of his captive audience, merely curled his wooden hand over his mouth. “All of our horses are here. Charon doesn’t have a ranch- and none of the people I spoke to has a missing steed. She didn’t take any supplies with her, didn’t really pack- she has to have assumed she could get there fast, but it’s several days away. So either she underestimated things, meaning she’s most likely lost beyond the border, or…”

            “…she had some kind of ride? One we… don’t know about, that nobody else in town does? In… dangerous country that _might_ be full of galra.” Keith sounded less convinced of his own words the longer he spoke.

            “She isn’t alone, that’s for certain.”

            Heads turned- Aurum perked up.

            Volcanius’s voice was slightly muffled- his teeth were clenched around a length of wood. He spat it on the ground, where it clattered by Hunk’s feet. Mindful of the god saliva, the latter picked it up for them to see- it was Pidge’s staff.

            “This instrument belongs to a young man. Somewhere far below the earth. His presence on it is very old, but I can tell that he is presently in pain.” Volcanius lifted his head. “Far fresher on it is the girl’s energy. She has cradled, worried, nursed this weapon for so long that it has become impregnated with her sentiments, and her intents. She grieves her brother, yearns for him. He left his staff with her as a promise of his return, and she clings to it yet in the hope that somehow it will be fulfilled.”

            Shiro was very still as the god spoke, Lance noticed- his jaw subtly working as if he were trying to hold something particularly disagreeable in his teeth.

            “You said she wasn’t alone. So… did she…” Keith’s gaze flickered, “did she find him?”

            “No.” There was a finality to Volcanius’s tone. “Her companion is the same that confronted us in the caverns. His presence is infuriatingly vague to me, but now, with clearer senses, I am able to see what I could not then.”

            “He is no mortal creature.” It was Blue who spoke. “His essence… it’s been twisted somehow. I’ve never seen anything of its like.”

            Volcanius nodded. “You felt it as well.”

            A wooden hand tapped on a crate. “We’ll deal with what he _is_ once we get there. The important thing is, from what he’s capable of, he’s probably able to get Pidge to the tower faster than we can chase them.”

            “Perhaps,” Volcanius lifted his head. His words curled from the corner of his mouth in a distinctly smug manner. “If you mean to chase him with mortal _steeds_.” His gaze flickered to Keith. “But that is hardly the only option we have available to us.”

            Hunk groaned. “Oh boy. Not more god riding.”

            Aurum bellowed a laugh. “Of course, boy! We need to work on those riding legs of yours _somehow_ , don’t we?”


	29. The Tower

            As soon as they got inside Pidge hesitated. The stone underfoot was so smooth and polished it threw nearly perfect reflections of everything above it- pillars like the legs of a spider bracketed both outer and inner walls; they rose to a tented ceiling far overhead. The entire space resounded so with the silence that she was sure actually setting foot on the floor would echo cacophonously and alert anyone there to her presence.

            Lotor simply ghosted in as if he owned the place. Probably _did_ , or would whenever his dad gave it to him. Must be _nice_ , she thought, glaring at him. Too bad she was gonna take down this whole thing, and him with it.

            It _did_ echo, but not as badly as she had feared. The first door, right across from the main one they’d circumvented by entering through a window, opened to some kind of shaft that plunged down into the darkness far beneath her. That door, she closed quickly, storming past Lotor and ignoring his eyes on her.

            The next door, he stopped her before she got to, a hand on her chest pushing her back into a small alcove. Before she could say anything, he pushed it ajar with his fingertips, and made some sort of curling motion.

            “ _Azka vrel veroku glakir kav voz, Sendak._ ” A woman’s voice, dry, but sure of itself.

            Lotor’s hand brushed over Pidge’s temple- there was a spark of white, and she had to blink away spots.

            “<Your master was not personally ordered to retreat.>” This voice was ragged, an older man’s. Lotor straightened at the sound of it, expression perked in interest. “<This is not his battle. I fail to see how exactly this concerns _him_. >”

            “<Do you really think you’re so protected?>” The clicking of claw on stone as someone paced. When the woman spoke again her voice was closer to the door. “<Without Lord Ranveig’s sponsorship, you’re a single untried, unconnected commander.>”

            “<I have been blessed with the blood of our emperor.>” The words escaped as a curling sneer. “<Something which _you_ could never dream of as little more than Ranveig’s hound. >”

            “<And yet, as Lord Ranveig’s hound, I outrank you.>”

            Pidge hastily suppressed a badly-timed snicker.

            “<I’m not here to argue, Sendak, I’m here to hand down a verdict. Fail to recapture Volcanius, and you will not find His Lordship in a forgiving place. Those are his words, and challenging _me_ won’t change them. >”

            The door creaked open. Pidge stiffened- Lotor pulled something like a cape over the two of them- another snakeskin, she realized, though this one she could see through; it swam and shimmered with power, like looking through a gauzy, glittering curtain.

            The woman who’d spoke paced into the hall. She was not much smaller than the galra they’d seen at the gorge, mane trimmed and pinned in a single braided lock that fell over her shoulders, and wearing black armor with blood red pauldrons. Flanking at her heels was one of the clockwork monsters, but a broad-shouldered brute, compared to the almost brittle-looking things they’d fought at Charon.

            Without so much as a glance in their direction, she strode to the door, voiced a command, and it sprang open. With a rattle of chains, a platform rose from the shaft, and she and her monster stepped on. A second command, and the door closed, muffling the creaking sound of the platform descending.

            Lotor wore a smile that would have looked more fitting on the face of a predatory animal than the nearly human one he presently had at his disposal. It lost only some of its edge when he glanced at Pidge, raising an eyebrow. _Entertained?_

            She thought hard of what she knew of voiceless speech, and tried to shove her thoughts across the gap to him. _What did you do?_

            Lotor’s amusement grew. She hoped that meant it worked. _Most galra deplore the languages of surface-dwellers. Consequentially, if you wanted to glean any sort of useful information from eavesdropping, you’d need an understanding of our language. I simply took the initiative to impart that understanding._

He could do that?

            A thundering crash from the room told Pidge that the one still in the room- Sendak- had smashed something.

            A hand on her shoulder- she was starting to resent quite how touch-friendly Lotor was getting. _Let’s not dally._

            She scowled at him and swatted his hand.

* * *

 

            Even with two gods at their disposal, it took time. Shiro suspected Aurum in particular was taking it easy on poor Hunk- or perhaps, years of slumber (death?) had worn down the god himself. Either way, they did not fly across the landscape as they had leaving the temple, but set a pace that was just able to be kept up by the horses.

            Keith was riding with Hunk. Volcanius was absent. Shiro hadn’t thought of a way to bring it up that didn’t seem indelicate. They’d manage, he told himself. Volcanius was probably still recovering. He wouldn’t ask him to come so close to his former captors again so soon.

            They were making good time, as it was. Already, well past the gorge and out onto the broad mesa. Ancient stone bridges were conveniently placed across the chasms- Shiro tried not to look down over the sides, though he caught Lance leaning enthusiastically out of Blue’s saddle.

            The sword hung at his hip. In weight, in form, it was very close to the one he was used to- the one that had been broken in their first clash with Sendak.

            Rolo had eyed it when they’d been getting ready to leave. Eyed it, and said nothing, which was fine. Shiro wasn’t sure what he would have told him, really.

            It was beautifully balanced. Fit to his hand like it had been born to be there. Gleamed in the light, a sharp enough edge that a gentle pass had notched the thumb of his prosthetic. Hilt and blade seemed fitted together as if they’d grown out of one piece.

            Something half-remembered gnawed at his fingers whenever he held it. It had seemed so natural to take it with him. Practically- he had needed a weapon. A shattered sword would have done nothing in that situation, and it would do nothing here.

            But had he been thinking of that, when he’d picked it up?

            “Don’t.”

            He nearly jumped. Nyma had pulled alongside him, her borrowed farmer’s bay leaving her sitting taller in the saddle than he did on Quiet.

            “You’re overthinking. We need that head of yours working on a plan.” She, too, was carrying a stolen weapon- the crossbow taken from the guard, along with her own sword and daggers, and a quiver stuffed with bolts, looted from a body.

            These things didn’t bother her. At least, if they did, she had never showed it. She’d grown up in a world where things were not buried honorably with the dead- not when the living had need of them.

            It was just a sword. He’d puzzle it all out later. He breathed in, and let it out slowly. “Right.”

            “So,” Nyma eyed him, “what _is_ the plan, then?”

* * *

 

            The tower was enormous. It was also nearly empty.

            It made it easier than Pidge felt it really should have been- now and then, someone paced through, and they’d press into the corner, Lotor’s snakeskin hiding them, for one of the clockwork monsters to tap its way past. There were a lot of them, and not many of the galra; no sign of the woman that had talked to Sendak, or of the man himself, once they started climbing to the upper floors.

            There were so many stairs. It was exhausting; she wasn’t out of shape, but even she was out her breath when they got to the top of one winding flight.

            Lotor wasn’t even sweating. Asshole. He ghosted ahead, looking side to side. _We can proceed, whenever you’re ready._

            She thought several unpleasant things at him, as loudly as she could, and picked up the pace.

            Here, they passed a window- and it was amazing how far she could see. For miles, until things disappeared blue in the haze. If they got to the top, they’d be able to see Charon from here.

            But there weren’t any cells. No prisoners. She set her jaw, and started looking for record rooms instead.

            Something that looked like an office. She tore into the drawers eagerly, found gilded tubes holding fragile paper scrolls. The script was unfamiliar. Lotor eyed it over. _Nothing of particular interest_.

            She stared him down, trying to find any sort of insincerity in his tone. “Is that _true_?”

            He met her gaze with eyes empty of either amusement or irritation. “Environmental records.” He stowed the scroll and replaced it. “Observations of the stars’ positions. Temperature, humidity, and sundry other atmospheric conditions.” He studied the label on another drawer. “Ah, and a note on guard rotations.”

            Her heart sank in a terrible way. She shoved past him towards the door.

            Cold hands snatched her back, one going over her mouth. She bit him, tasted blood, but Lotor didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look down at her.

            Something moved past the door. It did not walk as much as it slithered, no footfall but the hiss of cloth over stone. Its hunched and cowled head gave it the silhouette of a bird, a jutting, ivory beak pointing ahead of it.

            It slowed to a stop.

            Lotor’s grip tightened.

            A moment later, it shuffled forwards again.

            Neither of them moved until the sound of it had faded. When she looked up at Lotor, his pupils were thin, vertical lines from the top of the iris to the bottom; white scales studded his cheekbones and brow. He blinked, seeming to notice Pidge’s attention on him, and the strangeness melted away, back to rounded pupils and smooth skin.

            A moment later, he let go of her- and only then seemed to discover the blue blood weeping from his palm. She expected him to chastise, or sneer, but his expression barely shifted, sweeping over the pocks with the thumb of his other hand. _Let’s continue_ , he offered, prompting, and made his way to the door.

            “What was that?”

            _A druid. Keep your voice down._

            The next room was broad and circular. Something was cut into the floor in a series of elaborate channels. They were stained dark, and in the middle rose a broad, flat stone slab, about the dimensions of a bed.

            A moment later she placed the smell.

            She didn’t stop Lotor from closing the door, nor argue as he swept onwards.

            An airy room with a lot of strange metal devices and instruments whirling and ticking away to themselves. It was almost pleasant, except where, on a corner of the desk, a bleached skull held down a stack of papers.

            She didn’t reach for those.

            Something was starting to gnaw at her stomach. She wanted to leave. She didn’t want to be here anymore. She looked at Lotor, the back of his head, and tried to remember a thread of the hate that had galvanized her at the beginning.

            She remembered her brother, grinning, plinking tunelessly at a mandolin even though they both knew he could play better than that; quiet corners during formal events, laughing at the baron of such-and-such’s terrible wig.

            Remembered her father’s hands resting over hers, carefully, softly, power flowing through both of them, filling a glass sphere with steady light. Soft words, reassuring words, ruffled hair and promises that it wouldn’t be that long, they’d write.

            She remembered the terrible, empty, glassy look in Shiro’s eyes when her mother had asked him what happened to the two people that were with him- the conversation he hadn’t even remembered, when she saw him again a year later.

            Remembered when she’d dropped her father’s light bauble and it shattered, scattered pieces all across the library floor and no one was there to tell her not to grab the shards in desperation, and no one but her mother to put salve on the cuts and wrap them until they faded into little white scars- he wasn’t there to tell her it was okay, they’d make a new one.

            Lotor had started opening the drawers and looking through them, carefully and methodically. He didn’t notice her crying.

            Good.


End file.
